Not raising brats

What marketing does

2012-02-16T19:41:00.000-05:00

We are reading "Peter Pan," the real Peter Pan, to the boys right now. It's more challenging than I remember it; the pacing of the sentences is old-fashioned, so it takes getting used to, and the vocabulary is well-above most modern children's books. But the boys have surprised me by sticking with it and laughing at the appropriate times. It helps that Tinker Bell is even feistier -- and also foul-mouthed -- in the book. Both kiddos thought it was hilarious when she called Peter a silly ass.

It also helps that they've seen the Disney versions, so they know Capt. Hook is bad and Peter has a sword and Tinker Bell is a fairy. Disney movies, as we all know, stick with kids. I was reminded just how much tonight.

Before we read, I always do a quick recap of the last night's pages. The Lad still is just soaking things up, but sometimes I ask questions to see if The Boy remembers.

"Who's Wendy flying with?"

"Umm, Tinker Bell."

"Is that good? Does Tink like Wendy."

"NO!" The Boy grinned, remembering the pinches Tink had given Wendy.

"And, where were they all going? Where are Peter and Wendy and the boys flying to?"

"Um. Um. Uh. .... DISNEY!"

Yeah, not really.

And let me just remind you: my children have never been to Disney.

Ragamuffins

2012-02-15T11:50:00.001-05:00

How cute are my little ragamuffins?

Gramma took this picture while they stayed with her this weekend and the husband and I had a romantic Valentine's weekend in which I stayed in bed most of the time sick with the plague. Nothing says romance like snot, coughing and cold sweats.

While the girls look adorable, it made me realize how we all need some hair tending. This weekend, all three of us are getting our hair cut. This will be Gizmo's first trip to the salon. Peanut says she wants her hair cut short but I'm not sure she knows exactly what that means. Gizmo is just going to get some evening out. I'm letting her bangs grow out because I refuse to let the girls have bangs after childhood traumas that involved too short bangs.

I've been getting my hair cut by the same woman since I was 8 years old (she wasn't responsible for the bangs. The problem usually resulted after an at-home trim session.) She has cut three generations of our family's hair - my mom, my sister and me, and now our kids. I drive an hour just to go see her because I don't trust anyone else.

Right after I had Peanut, I chopped my hair off. Exhibit A:

After Gizmo, I decided to let it grow out and then donate when I decide to cut it. Exhibit B:

I think I have enough to donate without cutting all my hair off but I'm not sure I want to do it yet. The husband loves my hair long while my mom keeps telling me it is my hair and I can do whatever I want with it. I just don't know what I want, except low maintenance.

I'm thinking of either staying long and adding bangs (are bangs still cool?):

Or cutting it off a la this:

Any suggestions?

It's awesome

2012-02-14T20:36:00.001-05:00

I just saw a Facebook friend's status asking to be reminded how awesome it is to have kids. So after the post about how <a target="_blank" href="http://notraisingbrats.blogspot.com/2012/01/it-hard. html">hard it is to have kids</a>, I thought it would be good to focus on some of their awesomeness.

Kids are awesome because now you have an excuse to color, swing, run like a maniac and talk to yourself.

Kids are awesome because even after they have pooped and puked on you, they can smile in a way that makes you forget you are covered in bodily fluids, or least make you mind a little less.

Kids are awesome because they remind you to slow down and pay attention to the small things - them.

They push you past what you thought were your physical, emotional and mental limits. The 40-hour labor. The sleepless nights of newborns. The sassiness of toddlers. Potty training. Sleep training. All of it makes you realize how strong you really are.

You get to make Valentines again. Christmas ornaments. Blow bubbles. Watch cartoons. Take naps. Have Saturday morning dance parties.

You get to watch a person learn to crawl and walk. Hear them say "I love you" for the first time. Get all of their open mouth kisses until they learn to pucker. Take them to school for the first time.

You get to be the person they call out for when they are scared or hurt or excited. The person they want to tell their biggest secrets to. The person they want to snuggle up with at night.

They make you laugh with their silliness, like when they show you how they can't wink but can blink. They melt your heart with their thoughtfulness, asking if you feel better when you've been sick. They give you a purpose every day.

They really are awesome.

Tell me how your kids are awesome.

Jerry and other brother stories

2012-02-09T20:02:00.000-05:00

After we switched the beds, the boys were running from our dining room all the way across the house so they could take a running leap on the mattresses on the floor. They giggled and hooted as they ran this circuit after dinner.

"Watch my friend Jerry!" The Boy shouted.

"Who's Jerry?" I said.

"My brother."

The Lad's name is NOT Jerry. No one has ever called him Jerry. No one we know is named Jerry. The husband and I exchanged puzzled looks and then asked the obvious question.

"Why do you call him Jerry?"

Just as we asked, The Lad ran smack into the extra chair in the dining room, bounced off and lay sprawled, face down on the tile.

"Because he's slippy," The Boy shrugged.

We all giggled, even Jerry.

---

The Boy was not quite awake when, sitting at the kitchen table waiting for his waffle, he realized the Daddyman had gone on a cool down run without him. The husband had waited for as long as he could, but the kids both slept in and we have a time limit in the mornings before school and work. None of that mattered to the still-sleep Boy, of course.

"I wanted to go on the cool down!" he wailed.

The Lad, already eating his waffle, looked across the table at his crying brother.

"RAWR!" He was very obviously trying to get The Boy to laugh.

The Boy did not crack a smile. So, The Lad tried a different tactic. He wiggled in his chair, doing a happy dance.

Nothing. More crying from across the table.

The Lad wiggled some more and waved his arms. Nothing. More wiggling, more waving and a silly roar. Nothing.

The Lad grabbed his fork and cocked back his arm. He looked at me, waiting at the toaster oven and watching their antics. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Me throw fork? Me throw fork at Boy?"

The Boy burst into giggles before I could even get out a "DON'T YOU DARE!"

---

This is what The Boy told the husband happened the first night the boys slept in the same room:

The Lad woke, scared of bad guys, monsters and dragons.

"So, I told him, 'It's OK. Don't worry. Go back to sleep. There are no bad guys, monsters or dragons. And if there are, Chanker (that's The Boy's dinosaur pillow pet) will scare them away with his RAWR!'"

---

The Lad is getting big enough that he's allowed out on the playground with the older kids at daycare in the afternoons, which means he's out playing with The Boy's class sometimes when I come to pick up the kiddos. The Lad has taken an especial liking to The Boy's teacher, Mrs. A. He holds her hand and follows her around.

He also acts as an extra set of eyes when it comes to his brother. He spent most of one afternoon telling on The Boy to Mrs. A:

"Boy in mulch! Boy throwing mulch!"

The question is: Does he really like the teacher or does he just like tattling on his brother?

Sickness, pregnancy, and Simon Says

2012-02-08T20:17:00.001-05:00

The plague has been plaguing our house for about 10 days now. First Gizmo had an unexplained fever with no other symptoms. Then Peanut had snottiness, scratchy throat and generally sad eyes for almost five days but no fever. Then this weekend the husband and I both started feeling icky. I got better. The husband got worse and has stayed home sick two days in a row, something I don't think he has ever done.

I've decided I need to find a way to make a kid-germ bomb much like a flea bomb. I would make millions of dollars.

****

The husband and I are planning a child free weekend. We have plans for a dinner at a quaint restaurant in a great hippie town just south of where we live. Beyond that, we haven't decided what to do.

I need to clean the house but that seems like a waste.

Maybe I will just sleep past 6:30 a.m. instead.

While we will be enjoying a quiet weekend, my mother-in-law will have the girls and her two brand-new lab/golden retriever puppies. She is a brave woman to take all that on.

When we asked Peanut this week what Gramma should name the dogs, she said Big Teddy Bear and Little Teddy Bear. I think Gramma is still looking for names.

****

I made melted crayon hearts for Peanut's Valentines this weekend. While examining their awesomeness, the husband asked where I learned to make them.

Pinterest, of course. When I asked if he wanted to see, he turned down my offer saying that it sounds like once you look at it, you are infect with some sort of plague.

He's kind of right.

****

We've been playing Simon Says lately with Peanut.

While in the bathtub tonight, she asked to play the chipmunk game. I had no idea what she was talking about so I asked her how she played it. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "You know the game where the chipmunks tell me to do something."

As in Alvin, SIMON, Theodore chipmunks.

****

For about a week, I had the (fear, excitement, freak out) that I might be pregnant. For someone who had her tubes tied after the last baby, this was a bit concerning/overwhelming.

While discussing the possibility with the husband, he looked like one of those teen boys on 16 and pregnant who can't seem to process the fact that he is going to be a father. I am surprised I didn't find him in the fetal position. (And he accused me of doing "these things" for the blog. Untrue.)

A couple days later when I realized that no, I wasn't pregnant, just a bit wonky, the husband actually gave me a pouty face. He said he had worked through his initial shock and had gotten to a good place with the thought of a third child.

I have to admit, I did too.

Still doesn't mean I wasn't very relieved to find out I wasn't pregnant. I can't even imagine dealing with that right now.

Anything happening with you?

How I snagged the husband

2012-02-07T20:29:00.013-05:00

Ten years ago today, I was angry. I went out drinking with friends because that's what we did nearly every night back then, and I went out that particular night ready to tell the world to go to hell. I came home with my husband.

But that's getting way ahead of the story.

Mike and I don't remember when we first met. The best man at our wedding brought up this fact during his toast to us. I suppose it looks romantic, as if we always were there, just waiting to be found. Really, there's a much simpler explanation. We both were journalism majors and dedicated staff members of our college paper. If we weren't in class -- and sometimes when we should have been in class -- we were in that moldy dungeon of a newsroom. And when we weren't there, we were in a dark, possibly moldy bar drinking heavily. It's no wonder we don't remember meeting.

But meeting was inevitable. The disaster of a boyfriend I had my freshman year lived with some of Mike's best friends; I had to have been in his dorm room way before I ever stepped foot inside the newsroom. In the newsroom, Mike became friends with the guy who would eventually be our best man. That guy, whom he shared an apartment with for two years, was good friends with Michelle, who of course was my best friend and roommate. Another one of Mike's roommates had lived in my dorm my freshman year. And because Michelle and I lived in a sorority house -- great location, cheap rent, but pesky no alcohol rule -- we spent a lot (A LOT) of time with Mike and the guys from his apartment.

And that's really where our story starts. The first time I remember Mike as anything other than the goofy sports writer with the backward hat, we were in his apartment. It was the summer before my junior, his senior year, and he was throwing a party while we put out the special summer edition of the newspaper. He was editor of the paper that year. His hat was on backward as usual, but we were talking about music and I liked the way his eyes sparkled and crinkled at the corners when he laughed. I liked the way he focused on our conversation in the middle of craziness.

When school started that fall, though, I was hooking up with a photographer at the paper and Mike started dating one of our sorority sisters. We were friends. There were eight of us: Mike and the four other guys in his house, me, Michelle and our roommate. We were sarcastic and smart-alecky and generally considered ourselves superior, despite the fact that we regularly drank ourselves sick. It's just the way it was. We played euchre at the guys' apartment. We went on ghost hunts and drunken expeditions up large hills. We dragged the boys to sorority date parties. Those of us who worked at the paper (i.e. most of us) skipped class to cover Sept. 11. We spent hours every day in the newsroom lounge, waiting on interviews and doing homework. I loved watching Mike work with a reporter. He focused so intently on what the reporter was saying, asking just the right questions to lead the reporter to just the right answer, just the right words.

So, fall quarter ended and we all went home for the long break over Thanksgiving and Christmas. We came back to school in 2002 to cold and drama. I had turned 21 over break, which meant I finally could go with the rest of the group to the bars. I found myself wrangling seats next to Mike because he always made me laugh. My sorority sister had dumped Mike for her ex-boyfriend. The photographer had gotten sick of me; I was sick of hooking up. Michelle and I were fighting with our roommate because we disapproved of her boyfriend. And I was pretty sure I liked Mike.

On Feb. 7, 2002, I was pissed off because of something our roommate had done. It doesn't matter what now; it barely mattered then. I still have my journal from that year, and I read it trying to fix the timeline for this post and blushed over the ridiculousness of it all. Suffice to say: Michelle and I went out with the guys that night to get away from our roommate, and I was in a fuck-it-all sort of mood. I had been flirting with Mike for weeks, but that particular night, I gave up caring if other people noticed or if he would reject me. I threw myself at him. Literally. If someone so much as glanced at me as they passed our table, I'd push up against his arm as if we were in a crowd. He got the point -- as did our friends. They all decided to leave (I've never been more grateful to Michelle than when she elbowed the last one out the door, raising her eyebrows at me) and once they left, Mike asked me out. He confessed he had been wanting to ask me out -- had checked out my butt as we walked to parties, had thought I was the funniest, smartest girl he knew -- but couldn't get me alone.

And then we drunkenly stumbled home; he kissed me goodnight at my house's back door. It was and is the best kiss I've ever received. I went weak in the knees, literally, and I know what that word means.

My mom and dad met Mike after spring break when they dropped my car off at school. Mike and I had not said I love you. We weren't sure what was going to happen after he graduated. But Mom told Dad on the way home that they had just met their future son-in-law. She said we just looked right together, comfortable. That's still true. Sometimes it's a bad thing. A decade into this, surrounded by kids and animals and work, Mike and I both are guilty of taking the other for granted, of lashing out at each other because each trusts the other will take it. But Mike still is my best friend. We still appreciate each others' work. We still talk about music and politics and journalism and books and general goofiness, though usually now it's over Gatorade and water instead of cheap draft beers.

And whenever he gets cranky about my short temper, I can look at him and say, "You knew exactly what you were getting."

One thing leads to another

2012-02-06T20:18:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to kick Beastie out of the crib for a couple months now. He was getting too long for the crib and, honestly, I felt like we were pushing our luck leaving him in there. This is the kid who climbs bookcases and stuffs things up his nose. It was only a matter of time before he scaled the bars and took a nosedive off the railing. So. My plan was to get bunkbeds and stick them in The Lad's room, leaving The Boy's room as a playroom.

But I hate buying mattresses. Like tires, they are expensive and boring and I always feel like the salesman is talking me into something I don't need. And I worried The Boy, not yet 4 when the plan first was hatched, was too little for a top bunk. And The Lad is my baby -- removing the crib would mean the end of babies in my house.

The lone flea that I found last Wednesday was the thing that forced me out of my hemming and hawing ... sort of.

The flea meant the dog and cat had to have a bath. The bath meant the cat was on edge. The flea, despite the baths and the medicine applied afterward, put me on edge. So, we decided to bomb the house this weekend. To bomb the house, we had to put the dog and the cat in the garage. To do that, we had to catch the cat. The cat escaped. Twice. To ensnare the fugitive feline, we had to pull out our bed. Pulling out the bed was the last straw for our antique bed, which already was in poor shape. It collapsed.

The husband was all for putting our mattress and box springs on the floor until I could find a new frame -- but I have no idea what I want. So, I stole the adjustable frame under The Boy's twin and left his mattress on the floor. The boys thought this was the coolest thing ever, to the point that The Lad insisted on his crib mattress being put in The Boy's room so they could sleep together. The next day, it seemed silly to have an empty crib up, so we took it down (SOB!) and being unable to live in chaos, I started organizing the boys into the new bedroom. There aren't bunkbeds yet, but there is a bed nook. They're in there sleeping peacefully now.

This is the room from the doorway. Giant wood dresser to the left on which I cleverly hung hooks for their jackets. That child-size rocker was my mom's and then mine before the boys inherited it. Mike's grandpa made the two bookcases. The little one under the window is serving as a diaper station/shoe cubby. There are drawers on the bottom that hold socks. The green shelf has only books, baseball cards and quiet toys (puzzles, crayons). Everything else is in the playroom.

The bed nook. I know that wall is a giant blank, but I don't want to hang anything because eventually there will be a bunkbed there. I tried to tape up two dinosaur posters, however, our walls are textured and nothing sticks to them.

The playroom. The Lad's big boy bedding is tossed on the back of the rocker for now. Generic cars and primary colors to match the color-blocked quilt The Boy has.

It's not perfect, but I'm happy with it all for now.

The boys think it's the best thing that has ever happened to them.

So big

2012-02-03T09:16:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, we had to buy new car seats for Gizmo. While researching what we were going to get, I looked up our state's car seat laws and realized that in six month, Peanut won't need to be in a car seat anymore. Just a booster.

I haven't looked at her the same since.

She seems so big to me as she closes in on 4. I find myself searching for what to call her. She's not really a toddler anymore but I stumble over preschooler. Is she really that old?

Peanut colors inside the lines mostly now. She can identify her letters and tell what certain words start with. With some help, she can follow Lego directions. Some of her pants turned into high-waters overnight. One day her shoes fit, the next she complains that they are too small.

She tells me she wants to be a police officer when she grows up and she wants to have only one baby. No more. (This talk makes the husband go into seizures.)

She tells elaborate tales while "reading" her books. She sings made up songs while playing her keyboard pulling in bits and pieces from her day and weaving them together in beautiful, nonsensical verse.One day, while talking on her play cell phone, she called the police and asked them to come pick up her panda bear because he was being bad. (I swear we have not threatened to call the police on her although we might have said we were going to sell her to the gypsies ...)

She wants to help fold clothes, cook and doesn't fight us (much) when we ask her to clean her room.We still have the occasional toddler battles getting dressed and if her sister is getting attention at dinner time, she whines, "feed me."

But she is just so big.

I remember before she was born, taking pictures of her perfect nursery. Sitting in the rocking chair and trying to imagine how our lives would change.

I remember when she was born, hearing the nurse say, "come on, baby" while trying to get her to take her first breath and that first cry. Oh how that first cry filled me with a new kind of love.

I remember letting her sleep on my chest and marveling at her perfect little pink bow lips, how her eyelashes touched her cheeks, how her hair was growing into a mullet.

That small, wee little baby is now this:

So big.

cuteness

2012-02-01T20:52:00.001-05:00

Driving the boys to school this morning, they demanded the Avett Brothers. I complied and we all were silent -- well, I was singing along -- listening to the music. A song ended just as we went through the last intersection before the daycare.

"Momma, can you shut this off?" The Boy said just as the next song started.

"What?" I teased. "You don't want to just listen to part of a song?"

He didn't say anything as I parked and shut off the radio. I unbuckled him and he swung his long legs out of the booster seat.

"It's kind of sad when you can't hear all of it, Momma."

---

The Boy is in a basketball class right now. Every Wednesday night, the husband takes him to the class and then out to dinner. Meanwhile, I take The Lad home to let out the dog and have an evening together. Tonight, I didn't feel like cooking -- we already had eggs, the traditional no-daddy dinner, once this week -- so The Lad and I stopped downtown for a slice of pizza and ice cream.

Coming out of the ice cream place, The Lad held my hand and swung my arm, practically bouncing down the sidewalk.

"Who's my favorite little Beastie Beast?"

"ME!"

We had a brief discussion about decorative frog statues in a window and kept walking down to the car.

"Had fun," he said. "Had fun eat-tin pizza an' ice cream with Momma."

I almost started crying in the middle of the street. That little bit totally got me through the part of my evening, two hours later, when I discovered a flea on the dog and had to give both animals a bath.

technology

2012-01-30T20:31:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to chop an onion for dinner and the dog is jumping on the couch, stealing the boys' snacks. The boys are yelling at her, then at each other because one is stealing the other's cars or books or something. I yell at everyone and drag the dog off the couch -- and usually within a minute, we're repeating the scene. The dog is back on the couch, the oil I set to heat up in the pan is burning because the onion still isn't cut up and I've hit my limit. I glance at the clock, snatch up my phone and dial the husband as I angrily hack up the onion.

"Hello."

"YOU BETTER BE HEADING OUT THE DOOR."

I know, before the words are even out of my mouth that this call is worse than pointless. It's not going to fix the fact that I am only one person trying to do a handful of tasks. It isn't going to help the husband get out of the office; it's likely to delay his exit. It's only going to make him angry. But the phone is there and I can't resist the immediacy.

----

We went to a concert in Orlando, the Old 97's. Unexpectedly, the lead singer, Rhett Miller, who also is a solo artist, ended up opening the show. I tweeted that awesomeness and within seconds heard back from Kate, a fellow Floridian who I met at The Blathering last fall. She was there, too. Not to be cheesy, but in that moment, the world felt very small and friendly.

We chatted about Rhett Miller's hip wiggling, and introduced husbands and friends. (I also touched her pregnant belly -- and then apologized, because hello! inappropriate. Damn twitter makes you feel like you know someone better than you really do.)

----

The next morning, we showed The Boy and The Lad video on the husband's phone of Old 97's singing one of our favorite family sing-along songs.

----

The boys are playing in the tub, giggling and giving themselves bubble beards. I watch them through the door as I help the husband put away dishes or pack lunches, but then the tasks are done. Instead of focusing on the boys and their silly stories, I perch in the bathroom doorway, scrolling through twitter and facebook feeds.

The husband does the same in the yard while the boys play ball. After the boys go to bed, he takes the dog out to play fetch. He tosses the ball with one hand while his phone glows in the other.

----

We live 1,000 miles away from our parents, the boys' grandparents. But the boys know their faces and voices. We skype and do facetime with them. The boys regularly will pick up our phones and try to call their grammy or papaw -- or their cousins or aunt or uncle.

----

Another night, I'm heading out to meet friends annoyed by something the husband has or hasn't done. Who knows. Marriage is hard. I'm fuming and angry. I dial Michelle's number. Voicemail. I dial Mom's number. Voicemail. I dial my sister. Voicemail. I don't even bother leaving her a message; Lex is a notorious screener of calls. She calls back.

But in that minute before my cell rings, I think about the depressed pioneers of Willa Cather novels.

"You know," I tell my sister, "I've determined that the lack of technology is what drove pioneer women on the plains to suicide or homicide. They were 1,000 miles from home, trying to take care of a family and didn't have any other way of getting out their feelings."

----

Sometimes I feel like technology is stealing my time, stealing me. I feel as if I spend so much time receiving that I'm not sending out anything meaningful. And, while the immediacy of information and connections is what makes technology amazing, for someone with a quick temper, that immediacy can be a dangerous thing.

But thank goodness for technology that allows me to talk to my mom or my sister or Michelle any time, even if it's just an OMG! today sucks! or YAY! that's great! text. Thank goodness for technology that makes the world smaller for me and my kiddos. Thank goodness for the internet, which let's me Google anything and write this blog that has given me so many friends.

If I can just stick to texts only in the hour before the husband arrives home each night, we might be alright.

It's hard

2012-01-29T20:10:00.001-05:00

To the mother looking at crumbs on her floor, toys scattered in almost every room and laundry piled up, I'm there with you.

To the mother with a screaming toddler, who doesn't know why the child is crying or how to make it stop, I'm there with you.

To the mother who wants to raise empowered daughters, who reads and agrees with all the blogs blasting Lego Friends but still buys a set for her daughter because that is what she wants, I'm there with you.

To the mother who opts to go to work instead of stay home with a sick kid and feels bad about it, I'm there with you.To the mother who happily sends a child to Gramma's for the weekend and doesn't regret it, I'm there with you.

To the mother who loves her children with her entire being and would step in front of a speeding car for them but who just needs a few minutes without someone needing a diaper change, a juice, a snack, a blanket or a pacifier, I'm there with you.

This mothering thing is hard.

It's second-guessing yourself. It's dealing with others second-guessing you.

It's constantly putting yourself second or third or fourth. It's being tired all of the time no matter how much sleep you get.

It's getting the kids to bed just so you can clean the house, do the laundry, pee without anyone staring at you and then collapse in bed at midnight just to start it all over again in the morning.

It's doing what works now - breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, characters or no characters, media or no media - even if someone will be judging you for your choice.

It's realizing that most of your discussions with your husband lately revolve around poop and snot or whose turn it is to sleep in on Saturday or stay home with the inexplicably sick kid.

It's not being fazed by your own broken foot, not ever crying about it but crying when your child has a fever for 102.7 and you can't do anything to make her feel better.

It is realizing how much time you wasted when you didn't have kids. Why didn't I run a marathon instead of watching that Lord of the Rings marathon on television? Why didn't I read more, travel more, do more when I actually had the time and energy? It's wanting to punch your child-free self in the face for ever complaining about being tired or not having enough free time.

This isn't a cry for help. I'm not abandoning my quest for positivity in my life. I love my life - messy house, crying children and all. It is simply a recognition that this is hard. It is a message to other mothers so they know they aren't the only ones who look around and think, "Holy smokes I am wiped out. Can a girl get some peace and quiet around here?" and then put the television on just so they can get just that, even for 5 minutes.

Sure there are great things about being a mother. The first time you see your child, the first time they smile, hug you, say I love you, do something the first time you ask them to or better yet, do something without you asking them to do it.

The good times get you through the hard times but it doesn't make them go away.

Some days are easier than others. Some stages are harder - hello, 13-month-old who suddenly turned into a raging, tantruming toddler over night. The trade off is knowing that they will eventually grow out of it. Eventually she will turn into a lovely almost 4-year-old who wants to read books with you or quietly play Legos or something else awesome that you haven't yet experienced.

It's hard. Hang in there. Just remember, you are not alone.

And I thought of this after I posted: Do me a favor and all the mothers out there who feel alone, leave a comment even if you have never left a comment before. Let any mother who comes by to read this that yes, it is hard and that they aren't the only ones who have felt it. Sometimes, even if there is nothing you can do to change the situation, it's nice to know you aren't the only one.

Funkitified

2012-01-26T19:31:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling funky and not in the get down with yo bad self sort of way.

I wrote a whole post complaining about all my first world problems and by the time I got done rereading it, I was annoyed with myself for being so annoyed. I'm really, really, really trying to keep a calm, Zen-like attitude about things. (See communicating with love). That's not to say I don't enjoy a good bitch session every once in awhile (um, this entire week) but at some point, I have to let it go and enjoy the good things.

Look at me. I'm growing.

So. On to things that are making me happy:

My husband. He stayed home with Gizmo today, who spiked a fever yesterday (I'm guessing vaccine reaction). He is such an involved father. I don't think I could have found anyone more compatible to spend the rest of my life with. Sure we snipe. Sure we argue. But really, he is amazing. I need to tell him that more.

The preschool teacher who knows I broke my foot and walked Peanut into school this morning so I wouldn't have to get out of the car in the rain.

Peanut who asked me if the tampons I had in my hand were popsicles this week. No, seriously. The husband had to walk out of the room he was laughing so hard. I told her no, they were something special for mommy and hauled biscuits out of the house to avoid more questions that I couldn't answer.

Gizmo because even though I know she doesn't feel well, she is trying to be perky. The husband said she was dancing this morning. And even though I'm sad she is sick, it feels so good to snuggle with her since she normally won't hold still long enough.

Roald Dahl. You know, the author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, The BFG, Witches, etc. I was trying to find longer books to read to Peanut at night and Hillary reminded me of Roald Dahl. He was my favorite author as a kid and I can't wait to pull out my old books and read to her.

Changes at work. I am normally a don't-move-my-cheese kind of gal but I am really excited about the changes coming at work. I'm getting new responsibilities that will challenge me and allow me to grow as a journalist.

A co-worker who inspired the whole Zen-like attitude. He is a patient, patient man who has taught me a lot. When I am at my most frustrated, he reminds me about my goal to stay calm and makes me laugh. It's so good to have a quality mentor.

What's making you happy?

teenage dreams and real-life jobs

2012-01-25T13:43:00.000-05:00

When I was a teenager, I daydreamed about being interviewed. In my dreams, I had written an amazing book and was being interviewed about my life and the writing process. I never wrote that book. (Maybe I might have if I had spent less time daydreaming about the subsequent interviews.) I discovered journalism, which was a way to write and get a regular paycheck, and fell in love with the idea of getting paid to talk to people and tell their stories. I love telling people's stories.

This week, doing my job, I made the dream of my teenage self come true for a different 16-year-old girl.

I don't know if this 16-year-old has ever daydreamed about being interviewed. But, like me, she wanted to become an author. In second grade, a visiting author inspired her to start writing down stories. In eighth grade, she wrote a 20-page story about magical wolves and Native Americans. In ninth grade, she revised that story into a full-length book. In 10th grade, she submitted it to a publishing contest. (Spoiler alert: she won.) In 11th grade, her book will arrive the same month she turns 17 -- and she was interviewed by me, a reporter, about her life and the writing process.

I still want to write a book. I'm working on it. I'll be honest: A little part of me, the 16-year-old part of me, is jealous of this 16-year-old author. But the bigger part of me -- the part that is a working mother of two book-loving, story-telling preschoolers -- is just proud as hell of her and wondering how I can raise my own kids to be so well-rounded, imaginative and persistent.

And all of me feels incredibly lucky to have a job that allows me everyday to tell a story and make connections with people.

What are you loving about your job?

Things I want to do

2012-01-24T13:07:00.000-05:00

Here is my to do list thanks to Pinterest. I haven't been on the site in about a month and now I remember why. That site is a wonderful, addictive, exciting time suck. I might not get any of these done because I'll be too busy pinning.

This is a do-it-yourself bathmat that is designed to reuse old towels. I like the concept but I am thinking about getting fabric (possibly fleece?) and making one for Gizmo's room. All different colors and designs. It looks time consuming so I might get it done for her second birthday:

I love canvases. Love. Them. We have canvases that I painted all over our house. I'm thinking I might combine the next two pictures. Do the fabric flower for our bedroom and then put white wooden letters over it that says, "This is our happily ever after." I fear it might be too busy though.

I have not found a good way to keep track of all of the hair things the girls have. I think I want to do a small version of this and put it in their bathroom.

I pinned this and then went to the etsy store where they are selling them for close to $200. The pin, however, said you could do it with salt clay and then paint it silver. Seems must more economical but I don't know how it will last. I want to do one with the husband's thumbprint and mine and then another one with the girls' prints. I am not a hearts kind of girl but this just is too precious.

Today is my sister's birthday, which we are celebrating this weekend. I hope to make one with her kids' thumbprints without her knowing. How I will do that, I have no idea.

Adorable. Just adorable. I hope to get this done this weekend so we can hang it up for a few week's before Valentine's Day (on a semi related note, our neighbor has fall, Christmas AND Valentine's Day decorations up outside. It makes my brain hurt every time I look out the window and see it. I forgave her - kind of - after she shoveled our driveway this weekend.)

I need to cut my hair. I was inspired by Hillary to grow our my hair so that when I cut it, I could donate it. Here are some of the styles I'm thinking of:

What has been your best Pinterest find?

Weekend bits

2012-01-22T20:10:00.000-05:00

At The Lad's 2-year well check, an intern helped the doctor determine that my baby was, in fact, perfect. She asked the doctor, as he tried to figure out the computerized growth charts, several questions about development, including when night terrors start. My inner smart kid materialized and I couldn't resist having the right answer, so before the doctor could answer, I said, "Oh, I think right about now. My older son started having nightmares just before his second birthday -- though we never had to deal with terrors, thank goodness. And this one hasn't even had nightmares."

Of course, that week, The Lad woke us up screaming from a nightmare.

The first one was about dragons eating him. And I discovered The Lad, unlike The Boy, is chatty when he has a bad dream. He doesn't want to be talked out of it. No, he just wants to repeat it over and over again. (At 3 a.m.)

This week (at 3 a.m.), he woke up again, screaming this time about an umbrella. It was 3 a.m., so I thought maybe I heard wrong.

"An umbrella bit you, Lad? An umbrella?"

"YES! Umbrella bite me," The Lad said, waving around his hand with his fingers curled down as if they'd been bitten off. "He no see me! HE NO SEE ME!"

Apparently, umbrellas are oblivious and vicious.

----

The Boy got a real bike for his birthday, with training wheels. The last two weekends, he's ridden his bike down to the park near our house while Brucie and I walk with him. It's 6/10 of a mile. He's not even winded. His legs don't get tired. Today, the whole family went and the husband and I traded duties on the walk home; he took over the leash and I grabbed The Lad's stroller. Pushing the jogging stroller The Boy has outgrown, I started thinking about the hundreds of times I pushed both the boys around the block while I was on maternity leave with them. My little newborn lumps would fall asleep in the stroller and I couldn't believe someone had entrusted me with something so helpless.

And now, those boys are climbing the tall, twisty slide at the park all alone. The Boy is riding a real bike. The Lad is telling stories. I know I've watched them grow, but I don't know when this happened.

----

The Lad has taken to announcing, "POOP COMING!"

He did it in the middle of the bookstore the other day. He did it on the patio this afternoon. He's always right. I'm hoping this is the beginning of the end of diapers.

---

The husband ran a 31-mile trail race this weekend. I don't really have a point here other than he's crazy. I'm proud of him, but I also think he's nuts.

---

While the husband was running and thanks to a rare weekend babysitter, I went to a book fair Saturday. I sat through a panel with five women authors: Erin Duffy, Marisa de los Santos, Lauren Groff, Jennifer Haigh and Jane McCafferty. De los Santos seemed like the kind of woman I would love to hang out with -- but I loved her so much, I'm a bit afraid to read her books in case I don't like them. Have you ever read her?

I had read Groff's first book, The Monsters of Templeton, years ago and loved it. Hearing her speak made me love it more, and I totally turned fan girl and had her sign a copy. We had some nice chitchat about our small boys.

Jennifer Haigh also made me like the one book of hers I have read, The Condition, more. I picked up her latest, Faith, and it's promising.

Years and years ago, when I was maybe 12 or 13, I wrote a fan letter to Tamora Pierce. I loved her Song of the Lioness series so much. Loved it. So, I wrote to tell her that and ask her advice about being an author -- and she actually wrote me back. I don't know where that letter is now, but I remember being so giddy about receiving it. I sort of felt like that at BookMania! Some girls write fan letters to cute boys; I've always been the kind who geeks out over authors.

Have you ever written a fan letter? To whom? Did they write back?

Lessons learned

2012-01-20T10:13:00.000-05:00

Here are a few of the lessons I have learned in breaking my foot:

Don't run in heels. A little rain won't kill you.

Don't play Dr. Google. Just because WebMD describes a foot exam doesn't mean you should perform it at home and declare yourself fine.

Related, don't listen to people who tell you to walk it off.

Do listen to co-worker who tells you to go to the doctor after you almost jump out of your skin when she brushes her finger over swollen part of foot.

I would have never survived a plaster cast. My foot is claustrophobic in this damn boot. I don't sleep with it on, which is nice. But wearing it, especially in the car, makes my foot cramp up. I've adjusted it a million times and can't seem to get comfortable. I've had thoughts of ripping my whole leg off.

There is no way to make this look sexy:

About a month ago, I fell down the stairs because I was rushing in the morning. Then I break my foot because I am rushing. I get it. I need to slow down. Lesson learned the hard way.

Pros and cons of getting a puppy ...

2012-01-19T07:48:00.000-05:00

... with small children in the house.

Pro: We can train the dog to behave around children/protect the children.

Con: We have to train the dog to behave around children/protect the children/not eat the children.

Pro: The dog's activity level matches the children's.

Con: The dog's activity level matches the children's.

Pro: The dog is ridiculously cute.

Con: The dog digs holes in my backyard.

Pro: When the dog's not trying to herd the children or lick them to death, she keeps them -- and us -- amused. (Chasing a tail is always funny.)

Con: The dog needs to get up in the middle of the night.

Pro: The dog chews up stuffed animals/small toys that I don't like.

Con: The dog chews up stuffed animals small toys that the kids love.

Pro: The children are learning responsibility.

Con: We have to nag the children to play with/feed/water/not tease the dog.

Pro: The dog potty-trained a helluva lot faster than the toddler.

Con: Though the piss and shit in the house ended pretty quickly, we still are cleaning up puke occasionally -- in addition to changing diapers and wiping butts -- and cleaning poo up from our yard.

Pro: This will all be over soon.

It's like ripping off a bandage, right? All the potty-training, night wakings and temper tantrums will be over with in one fell swoop (that takes a couple years to get through, but whatever. We're being positive here).

When I first took Brucie to the vet, our appointment ended and the vet said, "So, you have two small children and a puppy? You're going to lose 20 pounds and gain a lot of gray hair." I thought it was a rude thing to say -- but that was before I dealt with a straight week of the "crazy hour" with The Boy, The Lad and the dog. All families know the crazy hour; it's the one right before supper. I had figured out how to handle it with two kids. I also know how to handle a puppy. So, in my head, I thought it would be easy to do all three. Reality proved me wrong. I've got it mostly sorted out now -- dog outside for a few minutes with me to pee and play, The Boy inside getting a snack for him and The Lad, dinner at least prepped, a little more TV than I would like -- but it was a long couple weeks before we got there.

One night, covered in dog shit, herding a Lad in muddy, poopy socks and a dog covered in poo and mud and dealing with a whining almost 4-year-old and a husband on the phone who couldn't understand why I needed him to bring home dinner, I seriously considered divorce. (He didn't bring home dinner. He's lucky he survived.) And I still spend a lot more time than I would like shouting things like, "Off! Down! Get up! Lad, GET UP! BRUCIE GET OFF! BOY! Play with the dog!"

But, it's like I told Brucie the other night, some day she's going to be a very good dog.

Laugh, cry or puke

2012-01-18T12:23:00.001-05:00

So I broke my foot yesterday morning. How you ask? Well, it was raining and I had a bunch of stuff to carry into the babysitter's house and didn't feel like messing with the umbrella. So, while running back to the car in my heels, I rolled my ankle and broke my foot.

It didn't really bother me at first. I walked Peanut into preschool, walked up two flights of stairs at work, and walked to a meeting. While I was in some pain and had to walk very, very slowly, I just figured it was a bad sprain. But after walking to the bathroom and realizing how bad the pain was, I decided I need to go home and rest it.

Not go see a doctor. Not go the emergency room or urgent care. Just go home and put some ice on it.

When it wasn't any better this morning, I figured I should probably have it looked at. First I took Gizmo to her one-year check up (she's in the 95 percentile for head size, 90th for height and just below 50th for weight). After dropping her off at the babysitter's, I headed over to a new urgent care.

Had I known what an awesome experience - broken foot aside - it would have been, I would have gone yesterday. I was in and out, with xrays done, in less than 30 minutes. The doctor looked at my films and said "eww" twice, told me my foot was broken, wrapped me up, put me on crutches and set me up with an appointment with an orthopedic doctor in the morning. She said I will probably end up in a walking cast.

I feel like a badass that I've been walking on a broken foot for 24 hours. I also feel a little concerned about how I am going to take care of two small people while on crutches.

Hillary's mom says in tough times, you can either laugh, cry or puke. Crying and puking are no fun so you might was well laugh. So go ahead and laugh. I have many times.

The birthday party in pictures

2012-01-17T20:34:00.004-05:00

We celebrated Gizmo's 1st birthday with a family party this weekend. It was a ladybug extravaganza complete with homemade ladybug cakes, sequin t-shirts, tutus and leg warmers.

Up your nose

2012-01-15T11:39:00.000-05:00

The Boy at 4 has outgrown the jogging stroller. Beyond the fact that he's so heavy that pushing him hurts the husband back, his legs are so long that he must pull them up to his chin to keep them from getting tangled in the front wheel. So, the husband declared his riding days over and said The Boy could have on his birthday one last goodbye run. It was uneventful but pleasant, and The Boy returned from his last run cheerful enough to share bits from his snack bag with his brother.

We decided to carpool that day so we all would be home early for The Boy's birthday dinner. When I strapped The Lad into his seat, I noticed he had a half-eaten pecan from the snackbag. Eat it, I said, and then promptly forgot about the nut until we were almost to the boys' daycare. As we pulled up to a traffic light, I heard snuffling, sneezing and then crying from the backseat. I turned around to see The Lad rubbing his nose -- and no pecan in his hand.

"Did you put the nut up your nose?"

No response, but more snuffling and crying and rubbing his nose.

"He's put a nut up his nose."

"Can you see it?" the husband asked.

"No. Lad, what did you do with the nut?"

"Nose hurt," he cried, snuffling some more.

The Lad puts everything up his nose. Peas and beans have been soft enough to squeeze out and shoot across a table. Straw and crayons are large enough to just look silly. Fingers have a purpose. And all of it is guaranteed to get a laugh, at least from his brother and, if I'm being honest, sometimes from us. Have you seen a bedimpled toddler with crayons up his nose? It is funny.

A nut up his nose was less funny. At the daycare, we dropped The Boy off then tried to see, for sure, if the nut was in his nose. Every time we asked, The Lad just looked out the window. It reminded me of a dog I had years ago who got a bone stuck over his jaw. When we took that dog to the vet to have the bone cut off, he refused to look anyone -- human or dog -- in the eye, as if he were ashamed of himself. The Lad had the same hangdog look as he rubbed his nose, snuffled and whined.

We called the pediatrician who said if we couldn't see the nut, we should take him to the ER and, on our way there, we asked the Lad one last time what he put in his nose.

"Nut," he said sheepishly.

At the ER, The Lad became his usual cheery self as we waited, checking out the aquarium full of fish and grinning at others in the waiting room. The only sign of his ailment was a red spot on his left nostril.

The doctor who saw us was jovial and asked if I wanted to try an old home remedy -- blowing into The Lad's mouth while plugging the unblocked nostril to force out the foreign object. I did not. The Lad is enough of a Beast that I was afraid of getting bitten. The husband tried, but The Lad wiggled too much to create a seal and we were left to the doctor's second plan: swaddling The Lad in a sheet, holding him down (it took three nurses, me and the husband) and having the doctor hook out the nut with the bent end of a hemostat. Within seconds, the doctor held up a slimy quarter of a pecan victoriously. The Lad screamed at the indignity of it all and the husband and I got to work only 90 minutes late.

Now, you might think The Lad learned his lesson about sticking things up his nose. We certainly thought so, however, that night at The Boy's birthday dinner, I saw The Lad mess with his face out of the corner of my eye. Then, he snuffled.

"What did you stick up your nose?" I said, eyeing his mac and cheese and nostrils suspiciously. "Did you put a noodle up your nose?"

"No." Snuffling.

"I saw you, Lad. DID YOU PUT A NOODLE UP YOUR NOSE?"

"No. Hot dog."

He had stuck up a bit of hot dog bun, which we still could see. The husband fetched tweezers and we held down The Lad. He was so angry about being pinned on the floor, he screamed and snorted and the hot dog bun bit flew across my living room.

---

I am happy to report we're on day four with no foreign objects in The Lad's nose.

Happy Birthday, Boy!

2012-01-11T16:55:00.000-05:00

Four years ago today, The Boy arrived.

Every day, his gift to me is a reminder that life is not all about me.

I was never the girl tossing a football with the guys.

But I play ball -- any kind of ball, every kind of ball -- with The Boy in our backyard.

I want my time with my coffee in my book in the morning.

But instead I find myself sipping coffee over The Boy's head while we read his books.

(I am unable to resist a squishy toddler begging to read.)

I wanted to not raise a brat.

But The Boy -- and my own behavior toward him, lord help me -- reminded me everyone has bratty days.

I struggled to deal the "right" way with every tantrum and trial

But The Boy showed me kids don't conform to "what the book says."

(We're still working on finding our right ways. I suspect we'll never stop.)

I used to say I wouldn't run if my life depended on it -- and even then I'd try to talk my way out of the mess. But I run races with The Boy and trot alongside the big-boy bike he got for this big-boy birthday.

When I imagined having a child, I always pictured a well-behaved, dark-haired girl.

But I can't imagine anything better than my dirty, stinky boys.

The Boy is serious, funny, silly, sweet, fearless, cautious, thoughtful, tricksy, bossy, athletic and witty.

He demanded a doughnut cake for this birthday.

He voluntarily waited two weeks to start the next Harry Potter on his birthday.

He fights with his brother, but giggles at everything The Lad does.

He's never seen a ball he didn't want to throw.

He is my favorite little Rhys Monkey.

I am a better person for being a mother.
My life is better for having this Boy in it.

*I'd put a picture on this post, but The Boy recently declared we only could take pictures of him on holidays. I'm going to respect his privacy.

Do you have friends?

2012-01-10T17:22:00.000-05:00

This is a potentially embarrassing or potential bonding opportunity kind of post. I've been kicking around writing this for months so here goes ...

Do you have friends? I ask because my husband mocks me for not having any. To which I say, not true. I have Hillary. He says she doesn't count because she lives in Florida. I then list two or three other women that live in town and he asks when I last spent time with them. Usually it has been an embarrassingly long time. Like months. And when we do get together, it involves kids.

Sometimes I feel bad about this but most of the time I'm too tired or busy to notice. Between work, a house, two kids, the husband and our family to whom we are close and spend many weekends with, I don't have a lot of extra time. And with that extra time I do have, I like to be alone. Spending quiet time.

I actually have two girls trips (defined as away from the husband and the girls) planned for this year, one to my alma mater and another to The Blathering in New Orleans (someone please remind me to go register soon.) Other than that, nothing.

I wouldn't mind connecting with a mom or two at preschool but I already don't have much time for my friends now so what's the point? When I need to talk about something, I talk to the husband, my sister, my parents or Hillary. When I do have time, I try to spend it with the moms in the area or with family.

Do you have a lot of people you consider friends? Do you hang out a lot? Talk on the phone?

If not, do you feel like something is missing in your life?

Peanutisms

2012-01-09T07:48:00.000-05:00

Peanut has been cracking me up lately. I love, love, love how her little mind is evolving. She is a hoot and she makes me laugh every day.

Here are some of her best recently:

Upon realizing that Santa did not make a return appearance on Dec. 26: Awww. Santa didn't bring me any toys last night. (She also spent a week asking if she would be getting presents every time we visited someone.)

Upon seeing that people still have Christmas decorations up outside: Momma, those people still have wreaths and lights up. Christmas time is over. It's just weird.

Upon being tackled by her baby sister: Gizmo, you are like a dinosaur on a lion. (I think she is trying to saying, she is like a dog on a bone, a phrase her father uses. While her phrase doesn't exactly make sense, a dinosaur on a lion does describe Gizmo pretty well.)

Upon feeling the wet spot her sister left after chewing on the Cabbage Patch Kids belly button: Momma, this doll peed.

Upon seeing the Lego creation I made for her: Rock on, Momma.

Rock on, indeed.

And this is worth a 1,000 words:

This was during a trip to Chuck E. Cheese. Two hours of play made for an hour earlier bed time in our house. Can you tell she was a bit excited?

This has been hung prominently at my desk and it makes me smile every time I look at.

I love 2-year-olds

2012-01-05T20:51:00.000-05:00

Or at least mine.

I love the silly, sweet things that come out of their mouths as they really get into the groove of language. I love how squishable they still are. I love how they run on their sturdy little legs. I love how they give honest-to-goodness hugs and fall into your body for comfort. I love how their sense of humor starts to appear. I love that they suddenly want to do things on their own, even if they can't quite yet.

When The Boy turned 2, he was going through the sometimes rough transition from only child to big brother. But still, he was the perfect mix of boy and baby. Yes, he was whiny and angry with me when I came home from the hospital with The Lad, but he also introduced himself to his little brother in a way that made my heart flutter. He danced to the "music" of the breast pump and started telling us his stories about California. He said things like, "I your boy."

And now, The Lad is 2 and he is just as perfect. I miss the baby days sometimes, the milky breath and the weight of a baby on my chest. But I have a feeling that when the boys are grown and, lord help me, I'm the old lady in the grocery store, it's going to be the adorable 2-year-olds who make me blurt out to their young mothers, "Enjoy it while you can! It goes so fast!"

The Lad at 2 is all squishy cheeks and rubberband wrists. He flashes his dimples and sparkles his eyes while he sticks a bean up his nose. He demands to "climb myself, buck-el myself" when we get in the car, even though his fingers aren't quite strong enough to do the straps. He tells fart jokes and stories about his condo, taking his cue from The Boy. He wants to snuggle and hug and whenever he's hurt -- physically or emotionally -- he comes running for me, rubbing his head on my leg until I smooth his hair and pick him up. He wakes up happy and doing a family inventory: Where Daddyman? Boy-y? Brucie? Josephine? (That's the cat.)

He loves everything The Boy does, which causes fights sometimes, including tonight when The Lad and The Boy both wanted the T-Rex pieces in a game they were playing. When the boys started fighting for the umpteenth time over the T-rex, I intervened and whisked the frustrated and over-tired Lad off to rock and read before bed. "Bunnies," he said. "Read bunnies." This is the book where the Daddy Bunny one-ups the Baby Bunny about who loves whom more. At the end, the Daddy Bunny says he loves the baby "right up to the moon and back."

We read the book. And then we had this conversation.

Momma: What made you happy today?
Lad: Granny and PaPaw.
M: What made you angry?
L: Boy-y did. Take T-rex. ... Try bite him.
M: No. We don't bite people, even if we're angry. What else made you happy today?
L: T-rex did. (Spies the robot T-rex Granny and Papaw got him for Christmas) Play T-rex lil bit.
M: No, it's bed time.
L: T-rex go bed. Go bed, too.
M: Yes. Time for bed. (Kissing him) Who's my favorite Beastie Beast? (this is a nightly question)
L: ME!
M: Who's your favorite Mommalady?
L: YOU!
M: I love you.
L: Moon, back!

I love 2-year-olds.

Communicating with love

2012-01-04T22:12:00.001-05:00

I have been thinking a lot lately about how people communicate. What is the best way to get your point across with our friends, our families, our coworkers?

I've seen some poor communication, as I'm sure you have as well. I've been a poor communicator, as I'm sure you have been as well.

But as I get older, I am learning how to do it better. To be better.

I have been quick to judge, quick to be angry over small things, quick to focus on the negative. All of those things have made my communication with others more negative than needed.

I snapped at my husband over small annoyances instead of focusing on all the wonderful things he does for me. I let little things at work spill over so that I was still irritated when I got home. And I haven't always modeled the behavior that I want my daughters to see.

Being annoyed and irritated by everything did nothing but make me tired.

So I am trying to change. Instead of being annoyed with a coworker for not doing something exactly how I would do it, I will be happy they did it. Instead of being irritated that no one has started a project, I will just start it. Instead of arguing with my husband over small things, I am going to find the solution and move on.

I have jokingly called my new quest communicating with love, even if that is tough love sometimes.

I am not turning into Pollyanna where I think the world is filled with sunshine and lollipops but I am going to try to be more optimistic (with a small dose of cynicism to maintain my old charm.)

I've realized that I can't change everything but (to totally be cliche) I can change my attitude.

Bits to start 2012

2012-01-03T21:06:00.000-05:00

The husband's cell phone ring is Neil Young's "Hey Hey My My." The Lad is convinced it's "Hey Hey, Mom-Ma." (I am the one calling about 75 percent of the time.)

---

When we're trying to get the boys jammied up, we often have them race each other. Trying to wrangle The Lad the other night, the husband said, "You better hurry up if you want to beat The Boy."

The Lad looked at the husband and then at The Boy, who was getting dressed on the floor -- and then he knocked the child-sized rocker over onto The Boy's head.

Kid's no dummy.

---

Another funny Lad story: He is showing some interest in the potty because a little girl at school is being potty-trained and receiving M&Ms for her efforts. So, tonight, he asked to poo in the potty after bath. He was making real effort and sat there for a good five or 10 minutes. At one point, he looked up at me and said: "Momma, hug me."

I obliged.

"Thank you."

We gave him one M&M for trying. And for being cute.

---

While Christmas was wonderful, even the kiddos were ready to get back to normal. The Boy asked to go back to school two days before we could send him. Only the dog, who returned to a 9-hour stretch in her crate, is unhappy about the return to routine.

---

We're having a cold snap in Florida. It might get down to the 20s tonight. That's like below-zero weather in the Midwest. COLD. I, of course, am all giddy because it means I can break out my wool skirt and tights. The boys, my little Florida babies, are less thrilled.

The Boy, upon getting in the car this afternoon, said, "I smell hot." The heater was on, and I told him so.

"I don't like the hotter."

Meanwhile, The Lad wanted his hood up even in the car. His ears were cold.

---

I started filling in my 2012 planner. Only three of the 12 months are without some sort of big event, and conveniently the slow months are at the height of hurricane season when I always fret about leaving home and it's too damn hot to do anything anyway. We've got concerts lined up for this month and February, a marathon for the husband in March, a trip to Ohio in April, a trip to St. Louis in May, the vacation with Michelle's family in June, our Pumpkin Party in October, The Blathering for me and Thanksgiving for everyone in November and then, of course, Christmas in December.

It's exciting to have so much to look forward to.

---

What are you looking forward to in 2012?

Goals and books

2011-12-31T16:52:00.000-05:00

I've never really been one to make resolutions. Strike that. I've never really been one to make resolutions and keep them. However, in 2011, I set a goal of reading 100 books in a year. Hillary has always been my reading inspiration no matter how much we disagree on what books are good. I set my goal based on what she's done in previous years and I was able to meet it. Surpass it even with a total of 102 books read in a year.

I've realized that I have a love of young adult books, especially ones based on dystopian societies and if they contain zombies, I'm in. I've read some craptacular ones and some pretty good ones this year. I've read some that were craptacular but still engaging - kind of like a bad soap opera or Lifetime movie that you can't tear yourself away from.

Books that I would recommend from this year: The Hunger Game triology; The Help; Water for Elephants;You know when all the mean are gone (see below); Zeiton; anything by Sarah Addison Allen; Fall of Giants; and Robopocaplypse.

Here is my last group of books:

Hollowland and Hollowmen by Amanda Hocking - These two books are what I was referring to when I said like a bad Lifetime movie you can't stop watching. Zombies take over the world. Badass girl fights back. The main character was a nice departure from normal YA novels. She reminded me of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. These don't have depth but they are good reads.

Delirium by Lauren Oliver - YA dystopian society. One of the better ones I've read so far where love is treated like a disease and everyone is forced to be cured. I'm actually looking forward to the next in this series. (Seriously, I wish someone could explain to why books always have to be a series.)

Girls in white dresses by J. Courtney Sullivan - This was a decent book about a group of friends graduating from college, people getting married, having babies, etc. There are a lot of characters in this books and the points of view changes from chapter to chapter so it can be confusing. It was one of those books that I didn't mind reading but didn't feel strongly about.

Half a Life - About a man who as a teen accidentally hit and killed a classmate. It was interesting but not great.

Crossed - Second in a YA dystopian society triology (what did I tell you? I love YA dystopian societies.) Good. Not as good as the Hunger Games or even Delirium but not awful either.

Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell - This was a pretty good book that made me very, very angry. It is about the lone survivor of a failed SEALs mission in Afghanistan. Three out of four SEALS were killed in the special ops mission. Another 19 (I think) were killed trying to rescue the one. The author is a very arrogant, full of opinions man who spends entirely too much time telling you how awesome of a specimen he is. The story line is interesting though. The part that made me angry was that he repeatedly blamed the liberal media for the decisions they made that ended so tragically. He all but called the media murderers. The man survived an unbelievable ordeal that he has a lot to be angry about but I don't think the media is to blame.

You know when all the men are gone Siobhan Fallon - I really, really loved this book. I listened to the audio version. It is a series of short stories set on Fort Hood dealing with families whose fathers/husbands are deployed. Wonderfully written.

When she woke by Hillary Jordan - I saw this quote when looking up the author of this book, "Hillary Jordan channels Nathaniel Hawthorne by way of Margaret Atwood in this fast-paced, dystopian thriller." That pretty much sums it up. I enjoyed this book and I'm looking forward to reading more from this author.

The dark and hollow places by Carrie Ryan - This was third in a triology of YA books about a dystopian society filled with zombies. I hated, hated, hated the first one (The Forest of Hands and Teeth). I hated it so much, I wanted to keep reading to see if the triology got any better (I know, it doesn't make any sense.) The second was OK. This was actually the best of the bunch but it just ended. Which, yes, I know that's what books do but it ended in a way that it seemed like it should keep going although from everything I read, it won't. It's just the end.

You don't look like anyone I know by Heather Sellers - I listened to this audiobook. It was a very interesting memoir of a woman who had a turbulent childhood with mentally ill parents. She herself turns out to be face blind. It did tend to drag on in spots but it was an unbelievable story.

I am Number Four - Had I known the back story on the authors of this before I read it, I don't think I would have bothered. The name on the book is Pitticus Lore but it is actually written by James Frey and some guy whose name escapes me but apparently graduated from the same college I did in the same year. I figured this out while reading the book because there were detailed descriptions of the town where I went to school. It is not a bustling metropolis by any means and in fact is kind of in the middle of nowhere. I did some research and found out that James Frey (you know,author of A Million Little Pieces, the memoir that wasn't and they guy who lied to Oprah) and this other guy wrote the book together. It was the start of what was supposed to be a series of six but the two authors had a falling out after No. 2 so they have no idea what is going to happen now. I find James Frey to be smarmy and just blech. The book itself started off OK and then by the end, just eh.

Poison Study and Magic Study by Maria V. Snyder - These are fantasy novels. I liked the first one a lot better than the second and haven't decided if I will read the third. The main character is pretty kick butt. This is another bad Lifetime movie that I don't want to admit I've watched.

Divergent by Veronica Roth - And, of course, my last book of the year is a YA novel (the first of three no less) set in, you guessed it, a dystopian society. This was one of the better ones with a pretty badass main character.

So there you have it. I don't think I will try to read quite as many in 2012. My goal for the new year is to open an etsy shop. Really, my goal should be to learn how to use the sewing machine I got for Christmas that I haven't even opened yet but that will hopefully lead to an etsy shop.

What's your goal for 2012?

Off topic: Books

2011-12-29T08:42:00.007-05:00

I told you the husband and I had a bet going this year to see how his running compared to my reading. We agreed 20 miles for every book was fair and through three quarters, I smoked him. As his mileage built toward his Dec. 18 marathon, however, my reading slowed because of travel and holiday prep -- and if I'm being honest, twitter. (I knew that thing would be a time suck.) So, as the year winds down, I've fallen just short of 100 books and he's run just more than 2,000 miles. He wins. I lose.

And I think it's clear that what this really means is I need more time to myself.

Anyway, here's what I did manage to read in the last three months:

Everything written by Jane Austen (minus Pride and Prejudice, which I reread earlier this year): A movie version of Mansfield Park piqued my interest in that book, which I don't think I had ever read, and from there, I moved onto Persuasion and Northanger Abbey. I might have stopped there if it hadn't been for a nonfiction look at the lessons of Austen's novels -- I'll get to that in a minute -- which then made reading Sense and Sensibility and Emma a necessity. I love these books. Pride and Prejudice is far and away my favorite, but there's something to love about each of them. I feel like they're old friends with whom time spent is never wasted.

A Jane Austen Education, William Deresiewicz: This is the nonfiction that kept me on the Austen kick. This is part memoir, part dissertation as Deresiewicz dissects each novel for the life lesson it taught him. This was an entertaining, heartwarming and interesting little book.

The Wichita Divide, David Singular: This is about the war over abortion using as a backdrop the shooting of an abortion doctor in Kansas, which is historically a divided, watershed state for this and other political issues. This book was fascinating. The journalism involved was impressive and the writing was clear and suspenseful. This book also got me all riled up. I like it when a book does that.

Evil for Evil and Mortal Peril, James R. Benn: These were the sixth and seventh -- fifth and sixth? -- books in the Billy Boyle detective series. Boyle is a secret investigator for "Uncle Ike" in WWII. I like these books and enjoy the history Benn packs into the action, however, the plot holes -- tiny, but ever-present -- are starting to bother me.

Pedophile Priest, ??: I don't remember the author and am too lazy to look it up. This was a Kindle single and well worth the 99 cents I paid for it. The writing is bad, but the story -- it's nonfiction -- is gripping, as well as vomit-inducing and rage-making. It's amazing to me what the Catholic church has allowed -- what so many institutions (cough*Penn State*cough) have allowed.

Getaway Car, Ann Patchett: Another Kindle single. I had just read State of Wonder and was curious what Patchett might have to say about writing. Here it is: It's hard work.

The Night Circus, Erin Morgenstern: This book was one of my favorites of 2011. It's full of many of the things I like in a book: fine writing, a love story with a good supporting cast, a historical setting and magical realism.

The Art of Fielding, Chad Harbach: I do not understand the critical praise for this book. I love a good book with baseball as a metaphor for life. (See: the works of W.P. Kinsella) I'm game for quirky characters and love a good struggling author story, so when I read an article about the trials of getting this book published, that and the plot synopsis -- in extremely short: baseball player is perfect then not after a freak accident -- had me all set to love the book. I didn't. I thought it was slow and ham-handed. I enjoyed parts, but really, it seemed like a Nanowrimo novel.

This was the beginning of a series of not-good books that I'm blaming, in part, for my end-of-the-year reading slowdown. Those books were:

The Ballad of Tom Dooley, Sharyn McCrumb: Good premise (recreating the story behind a real ballad) was killed by repetitive writing and spectacularly nasty characters.
The Lost Memory of Skin, Russell Banks: Again, interesting premise (fiction about a young adult exiled as a sex predator) destroyed by unlikeable characters, silly plot twists and opaque writing.
The Fall of the House of Walworth: Nonfiction that suffered from so-so writing.

Then, I read a couple of so-so books:

The Zookeeper's Wife, Diane Ackerman: This is nonfiction about a Polish couple who hid Jews during WWII in their zoo. Interesting, but it's not as much about the wife as the title would have you believe and I never felt like I knew the people. It's sort of a series of "then this happened."
We The Animals, Justin Torres: This is a slim and, I assume, autobiographical first novel about three biracial brothers. It's a coming of age story. Some of it is a little over-written. Mostly, it just wasn't my cup of tea.

My December reading list ended on a high note -- assuming I don't finish anything else in the next three days -- with Emma, the last of my Austen reading and an always delightful novel, and What It Is Like To Go To War by Karl Marlantes. I hesitate to recommend the latter because I'm fairly certain about 90 percent of Not Raising Brats readers will be totally uninterested in it.

But I will recommend the book because it was poignant and honest and thought-provoking. It is nonfiction from a Vietnam veteran -- and Rhodes Scholar -- about what it's like to be a modern soldier and return from war, as well as his thoughts on what it should be like. It made me think about how I ought to be raising my sons. I read Marlantes' novel about Vietnam, Matterhorn, early in the year because he was coming to a book fair in my area, and it was brilliant. I do not like war novels generally, but that book was wonderful. I highly recommend both.

What have you been reading lately?

A year ago

2011-12-28T09:23:00.000-05:00

A year ago I woke in the middle of the night, sick and unable to keep anything down. Four hours later, my water broke, just 24 hours before I was scheduled to go to the hospital for a c-section.

A year ago I was so dehydrated from being sick for four hours the nurses couldn't get my IV in and I lost my peripheral vision while waiting for the doctor to get ready for my surgery.

A year ago I heard my daughter cry loudly. I heard the doctor say, "Well, hello, there chubby cheeks," and "someone get this little girl a bow," as he held her over the sheet so I could see my screaming girl with a head full of dark hair.

A year ago, I felt relieved. The biggest sense of relief I have ever felt in my life. When my 8-pound baby was lifted out of me, I felt like 100 pounds had been removed.

An anxiousness had settled on me the night before. A combination of hormones, nerves over the impending birth, second guessing the decision to forego a VBAC and worry over disrupting Peanut's life had made me a crying mess.

I remember trying to hold it together while I watched a movie and the husband made dinner. Unable to hold back the flood of tears anymore, I sat on the steps and cried while the husband tried comforting me.

But all of it - the worry, the anxiousness, the sickness and the pain - were gone the minute I heard Madeline Sarah cry. I was flooded with love and relief.

The first year of the second baby is easier and harder. Easier because I've been here. I don't freak out about every sniffle, every cough, every milestone met or not met. Harder because now there are two little people who rely on us for everything.

But there are two little people to give hugs and kisses. Two little people who hug and kiss each other. Who light up when they see one another. Who wrestle and giggle and smile. Who scream with delight when they hear momma and daddy walk in the door.

Gizmo crawled at 6 months and was cruising soon after. She began walking on her own in the past couple of weeks. She learned to climb the stairs early and figured a way to climb on top of the coffee table around Thanksgiving.

She is my daring one who has given me more scares than I can recall including the most recent where I had to dive down the hallway to keep her from going down the stairs head first. She walked away unscathed while I had a nasty rug burn on the palm of my hand and large dark bruise on my elbow.

She eats anything we put in front of her and has put her four teeth to good use (and bad use. No bite is a common phrase in our house.)

Gizmo's verbal skills consist of dada, mama and baba, which is her word for everything else. She added cat this weekend. While she doesn't have many words, she knows exactly what we are saying. She heads straight for the steps when we say it is time for a bath. She waves manically when someone leaves and she bounces up and down when we say, "shake your booty!" (Shaking her booty seems to be her favorite activity.) She also acts broken hearted when she is told no, her bottom lip sticking out, her chin quivering and her whole face crumbling into a pitiful, red sight.

In a year, she has gone from my little brunette with a head full of hair, to my little rocker sporting a faux hawk to my sweet blond pony tailed girl.

She is the completion to our family. After Peanut, I looked forward to another baby. I knew we weren't done. But Gizmo completes us.

Happy birthday, baby girl.

Our awesome husbands

2011-12-26T18:27:00.001-05:00

The husband and I decided not to buy each other a Christmas present this year. We got a laptop about 6 weeks ago and figured that was enough.

But then a couple of weeks ago, Peanut told me she and daddy went shopping for me. He said he was just buying something small from the girls for me. I made some quick purchases and called it a day.

Little did I know that no matter what I bought him at the store, it would never compare to what was under the tree for me Christmas morning.

What looked like a wrapped DVD was actually a picture frame of Hillary and the Boy with me and Peanut during both of their first Christmas. Attached to it was directions to The Outer Banks from our house.

See while the husband was telling me we didn't buy any Christmas gifts, he had been secretly plotting with Hillary's husband since February. Our husbands have planned a joint family vacation for this summer. How awesome are they?

Hillary and I have always talked about some day planning a vacation but we wanted to wait until we were done having babies. We are done but we still hadn't planned anything. Thankfully our husbands decided for us it was time. So all eight of us will spend a week on the beach.

A huge thank you to Mike for getting the ball rolling and to Lucas for agreeing. You guys really are the best.

Hope everyone had a great Christmas, too.

Happy birthday, Beastie!

2011-12-25T09:23:00.000-05:00

I know everyone else is opening presents and eating ham, but today, we also are celebrating the birth of my favorite little Lad, the Beastie Beast.

He arrived a week early, but exactly when his older brother insisted he would arrive. He was the best Christmas present I've ever gotten or ever expect to receive.

This is Beastie last Christmas with his birthday balloon. He's never really believed he was a baby, though he is mine, my last one. Almost everyday when I strap him into his carseat after school I tickle his squishy legs and say, "Look at those thighs!" I don't know what I'm going to do when he stops being squishy. I know it's coming and it makes me sad.

He's so squishable now, though, he can't even help but squish himself.

He is my favorite little Beastie Beast.

Holiday tidbits

2011-12-22T21:34:00.000-05:00

Apparently my whole not-going-to-stress-about-the-holidays also meant not-going-update-the-blog-much.

Here's the skinny about what's happening around our parts:

Maddie is full on walking. Just walking her happy booty around. Also? She has kind of a wild look in her eyes accompanied by lots of screeching and screaming. Oh and one night she bit us all. Chased us all down to bite us and even turned her four chompers on the bedside table.

Have I mentioned I think she is going to be my wild child?

*****

I spent two hours wrapping presents while also debating if we got the girls enough for Christmas. We curbed our gift buying this year mainly because the girls don't need a bunch of toys. They have enough and I don't want our house filled with more stuff.

We did get them a shared gift of big sister/little sister Cabbage Patch dolls. Peanut saw the dolls in the store (after I had already ordered them) and she declared that they "freaked her out." Gizmo might get an extra doll for Christmas.

P.S. Wrapping presents is a pain but not as much when you aren't 9 months pregnant. I do not miss that.

*****

Speaking of being 9 months pregnant, I finally figured out what we are doing for Gizmo's birthday (which we won't celebrate with the official party until mid-January). Ladybugs will be the theme, which should make Hillary happy given her love of ladybugs.

I got Gizmo, Peanut and their cousin black t-shirts that I am going to adorn with sequined ladybugs. Gizmo's outfit will be topped with a black and red tutu and hopefully black and red striped tights. So. Excited.

*****

I am 99 books into my 100 books in a year challenge. I have started and quit 5 books in the past two weeks. I'm so close and yet can't find anything I want to read.

I think my goal next year won't be quite as ambitious. Maybe one book a week instead since I hope to get my etsy shop up and running.

I don't think I ever told you I figured out a name for it: Forever Hearts, which is a play on my maiden name.

What's happening with you?

My holiday happy place

2011-12-20T21:33:00.001-05:00

The husband ran his second marathon on Sunday, finishing just under 3 hours and 10 minutes. We all were very proud of him, and the boys were excited, too, because the race finished in a football stadium, so they got to play on the field while we waited for the Daddyman to finish. They kept dropping into three-point stances and yelling, "HIKE!"

"MOMMA, YOU WANNA SEE THE REPLAY?" The Boy would ask before running through the play again, complete with pretend tackle three strides in.

The race was in Jacksonville, which is not quite an hour from St. Augustine. If you ever get a chance, visit St. Augustine at Christmas. It's a beautiful little town anyway, but at Christmas, they decorate the downtown with lights and the market area looks like a fairyland. The weather was perfect this weekend -- blue skies and crisp 60s and 70s -- and we made the most of it running around town and the fort.

Here is the obligatory shot of the boys with the cannon. (Our last name is a homonym to cannon.)

They're shouting, "Boom!"

Across from the fort, there is a pirate museum. This scared the bejeezus out of both of the boys. The Boy had to retreat back to the gift shop two rooms in -- he was frightened by a replica cannon being shot and the mannequin of a captain asleep in his bunk. The Lad insisted on going through, however, he whimpered through the last three rooms. Later, as we walked around downtown, we passed a pirate mannequin and The Lad screamed and insisted it tried to bite him.

(I would go back to the pirate museum. They had a real Jolly Roger flag and treasure chest, and the history seemed well-researched. However, I wouldn't take the kids back for at least a couple years.)

After dinner we strolled around downtown, savoring hot chocolate and waving at all the sightseeing trolley tours. (The Boy thinks they are called Charleys. We are not correcting him. That and "slider" for cider, which he LOVES, are the only cute mispronunciations I have left with him.) We all were in bed by 9 -- yes, 9 p.m. -- and I slept nine straight hours and it was amazing. Amazing.

In the morning, we woke up giggling -- The Boy appeared to have his feet on The Lad's face; they weren't -- and took our time getting around to stroll downtown for breakfast. If you ever go to St. Augustine, I recommend you hit up The Gourmet Hut and Crucial Coffee Cafe at the corner of Cuna and Charlotte. The eccentric French chef cooed over The Lad and his dimples and made the boys a chocolate waffle, covered in chocolate chips and syrup, that was spectacular. Our eggs were good, too, however, that chocolate waffle was one of the best things I've ever eaten. Not too rich, but perfectly sweet.

Look at these satisfied faces:

It was the perfect lazy (well, except for that whole marathon thing for the husband) and fun weekend getaway before the rush of holiday visits. I'm trying to save these little memories for the moments in the next week when I get stressed trying to make Christmas and The Lad's birthday just perfect.

What's your holiday zen?

I love this kid

2011-12-18T21:53:00.001-05:00

Every day she makes me laugh, especially when out of the blue she walks out of her room looking like this:

Spreading love and joy

2011-12-16T10:55:00.002-05:00

I have been a bit cranky this week. Holiday pressure, important decisions to make, stress at work. Yesterday, I had three people ask me if I was OK and I felt twirly and on the brink. I even told one co-worker I was about to have a Jerry Maguire moment, you know, "Who's coming with me?!"

Then I had a pep talk with myself last night. It was time to pull it together and realize that much of the stress and pressure I was self-imposed, as usually is the case. It was time to get in the Christmas spirit, damnit.

This morning I woke up in a much better mood. Here is what's making me happy:

Gizmo is walking. Straight up zombie-baby walking. She thinks she is big time now. The husband thinks she is a holy terror, which she kind of is but in an oh-so-adorable and innocent way.
I had a fabulous talk with my dad this morning about human behavior and what annoys us. I love hashing things out with him.
We had a great morning and appear to be making strides in getting out the door without any freak outs - mine or the kids. The husband and I are getting up earlier and Peanut is getting used to the new schedule.
We are celebrating Christmas twice this weekend - once with the husband's dad and another time with his mom.
The husband expertly deals with my cranky moods. Giving me my space when I need it and telling me that everything is going to be fine.
I'm sending a Christmas package to Hillary and the boys and finally getting around to sending the giveaway package to Tara.

What's making you happy?

Our little comedian

2011-12-15T20:06:00.001-05:00

I was playing barber in the garage tonight, cutting all the boys' hair. The husband was in the chair and the boys were running around playing nakie basketball. The husband was justifiably nervous about my getting bumped by either a ball or a boy while using the clippers near his ears, so he told The Boy and The Lad that if the balls came past a certain line, they were gone.

Whoosh!

The balls had to be put away.

The Boy, who feels every injustice like a sharp knife to the heart, immediately began wailing. It wasn't fair. He wanted to play. He didn't mean to. (Somewhere, my mother is laughing maniacally, saying I got what I deserved.) We told him to get it together; it was OK to be sad, but not to throw a fit. If he couldn't stop, he'd go straight to bed. (I wish I had a dollar for every time I've said this to him; his college would be paid.) The Boy whined less loud, but continued fussing.

"Hat!" The Lad said, placing an empty laundry basket on his head. He stuck out his naked belly at his brother. "HAT!"

The Boy giggled despite himself. The fit was over.

I love that Beastie Lad.

---

Unrelated, but funny and also another thing that made me glad I had children tonight: The husband had the following conversation with The Boy as he tucked him into bed.

Boy: Why are your arms so big?

The Husband: Well, I used to lift weights.

Boy: Why?

TH: Well it was in college mainly.

Boy: But why?

TH: Well, to be honest, to try to get girls. That's how I got Momma.

Boy (in a voice of awe): That's how you got Momma!

Peanut Butter Fudge recipe

2011-12-13T20:57:00.001-05:00

Mama Bub asked for the peanut butter fudge recipe I used on cookie day, and it is pretty darn good, so I thought I'd share. Supposedly, this recipe came from my Great Great Aunt Bea, but I'm guessing it came off an evaporated milk label or something somewhere. Anyway ....

Peanut Butter Fudge
4 1/2 cups sugar
1 15-ounce can evaporated milk
1 pint marshmallow creme/fluff
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 to 2 pounds peanut butter
Mix sugar and evaporated milk in a LARGE saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat. Stir it constantly, watch it closely and be patient. It takes awhile. Stir, stir, stir. Don't stop stirring. You don't want it to burn.
Once it starts boiling, turn the heat to medium-low and let it boil for 10 minutes. Keep stirring.
Meanwhile, have someone else dump the marshmallow fluff, peanut butter and vanilla in a bowl. If you don't have help, do this before you start boiling the sugar. And use a big bowl.
When the 10 minutes are up, pour the hot sugar-milk concoction over the peanut butter and marshmallow. Stir until smooth. This take a bit of work. You don't want any streaks of marshmallow.
Pour it into a lipped cookie sheet/jelly roll pan. For easy clean up, cover it in foil and then line the bottom with parchment paper.
Let the fudge set up. This takes awhile. I let mine set at room temp for about five hours while we made other cookies.
Cut into tiny squares. This stuff is rich. It also is a very soft fudge. If you like grainy, hard fudge, this is not the recipe for you.

Christmas cheer

2011-12-12T21:22:00.002-05:00

Tonight was Peanut's first Christmas program. The cuteness was overwhelming, as I'm sure you can imagine.

The husband and I had to haul biscuits to get home from work, get the girls, get dinner in them and then get them dressed for the big show, in matching dresses, natch. Even getting to the preschool 20 minutes early, the parking lot was packed and it was standing room only inside. I had no idea it would be the hottest ticket in town (it really was hot too especially while wearing a sweater dress and wrestling an-almost-1-year-old who didn't feel the need to sit still.)

But it was oh so worth it. To see my sweet little girl sitting there on stage. To see her face when she first spotted us in the crowd. To have her wave to us over and over again. To watch her sing her little heart out. To see her so excited that she tried to rush back up on stage with the big kids.

So worth it.

Christmas dress 2010 still fits in 2011. Awesome.

Even better, we got little sister a matching one.

Peanut all smiles. Gizmo not so sure about all this.

Both of their faces are just priceless.

Waiting for sissy to make her debut.

See the only kid waving (second row, second from the left)? That's my girl.

Christmas prep bits

2011-12-12T09:43:00.000-05:00

Despite the Biblical-style rain that put a damper on this weekend and the fact that every single being in my house -- including the dog and cat -- has had some sort of stomach illness over the course of the last two weeks, Christmas has arrived at our home. The tree is up and decorated (with only unbreakable ornaments in case the dog or the toddler or the showing off Boy pull it down), the first set of cookies has been made and a few presents have been wrapped. Now I just have to find the time to finish shopping for the husband.

---

I made peanut butter fudge for the first time this year. Thank goodness I listened when Mom told me to stand by the stove and keep watch on the sugar and evaporated milk that has to be boiled. It didn't boil and didn't boil and then, without warning, it was foaming up and nearly out of the very large pot. Even standing right there stirring it, it was a near miss to having a wave of molten sugar all over my stove.

---

Cookie Day was just me and the boys this year. I kind of missed having the camaraderie of another mother in the kitchen, however, there was limited fighting over space at the counter, so it all worked out. At one point, The Lad was eating fistfuls of straight sugar. The Boy stuck a heaped spoon of frosting in his mouth. (And yes, I made both go wash up before we proceeded. I'm not risking any more illness.)

---

The husband is running a marathon this weekend. When we return, my in-laws will have arrived for their three-week Christmas visit. (They rent a condo, but are at our house everyday.) And this year, my mom is staying with us for a week at Christmas, too. So really, this is my week to get everything done in preparation for the holiday. Wish me luck.

---

How are your holidays shaping up?

Morning transition

2011-12-07T17:55:00.000-05:00

The new morning schedule has not been as easy as I thought it would be. Since giving birth 3.5 years ago, we have never all had to be out the door at the same time.

After Peanut was born, I started work at 6:30 a.m. Then there was short period of time where I worked at 3 p.m. then back to the early morning. While I was pregnant with Gizmo, I switched to a noon start time, which gave Peanut the most amount of time with us even if it meant we saw each other less. It worked with one kid.

It did not work with two and after 9 months of trying, I asked if I could work a normal schedule or as normal as a schedule gets in a newsroom.

So here we are. The husband needs to get out the door at a certain time so he can drive almost and hour to work and I need to leave no more than 15 minutes after so that I can drop the girls off and then drive about 40 minutes to work.

That is not happening.

We are each running about 10-15 minutes behind each day. Rushing and being late makes me nuts. Just twitchy and twirly and I hate starting my day feeling like that.

I've also started packing all bags - pumping, lunch, diaper, and my laptop bag - the night before. The husband and I each make sure we have outfits ready to go. It still isn't helping.

When we first started this, Hillary laughed at me when I said I was going to give us an hour to get ready. She says it takes their family about 90 minutes to 2 hours to get out the door. I do not want to get up two hours before we need to leave but I'm thinking an earlier wake up time is in order.

Here's the rub. The husband, Gizmo and I could all easily get up earlier on our own. Peanut is another story. Waking her up most mornings is like waking a hungry hibernating bear. Sleeping beauty does not like her slumber disturbed. Because of this, we've been letting her wake up on her own. This is fine if she wakes up 45 minutes before we need to leave. It does not if she wakes up 30 minutes before departure.

This kid has her routine and does not appreciate deviation. She wants to come in our room. Snuggle. Snuggle some more and only when she is efficiently snuggled is she ready to consider changing into clothes and eating breakfast. A morning person she is not. (She gets it honestly. I am not a morning person either. I've just learned to deal with it after years and years of fighting it.)

Some mornings are better than others. She was getting dressed before I was even out of the shower this morning, which shocked me. But we still haven't hit our stride yet and I don't want to keep nagging her to hurry, eat, get dressed, find your shoes, etc.

Anything work for your family for stress-free mornings?

The Serendipitous Advent

2011-12-05T21:29:00.000-05:00

I had plans for an advent activity calendar, and by plans, I mean a vague idea about cards on a ribbon and doing fun things with the boys. Amazingly enough, vague ideas don't translate to action. Dec. 1 rolled around and ... nothing.

But without planning it, we've managed to do something Christmas-y every day in December so far.

Dec. 1: Reading Christmas books and making Christmas trees
Two years ago, I started a tradition of buying the kids a new Christmas book each year, to be opened on Christmas Eve with their new jammies. The boys, unprompted, pulled out The Grinch and The Night Before Christmas on Dec. 1 and demanded that we read them. Then, after The Lad went to bed, The Boy and I cut up the finger-paintings we did the weekend of Thanksgiving (everything turned a mottled green color) to make Christmas trees for our kitchen cabinet doors. I did most of the work, but The Boy was super excited to help hang them up.

Dec. 2: Holiday parade
We have friends who live a block from the parade route, and they were nice enough to invite us and a few other good friends -- and our dogs -- over for a pre- and post-parade party. The Lad had his mind blown by hot chocolate, The Boy played with his best little buddy and Brucie jumped head first into a bucket of beer and ice. Candy was thrown and Santa arrived. It was a perfect evening.

Dec. 3: Painting the 2011 Christmas ornaments
Every Christmas the husband and I have been together, we have gone to a paint-your-own-pottery place and made an ornament. When the boys arrived, they started getting one each year. This was the first year they actually could paint their ornaments themselves, with some help. Both The Lad's star and The Boy's stocking ended up a mottled blue-red. The Lad painted his forehead orange. After 15 minutes, there was a meltdown. But the things are done and will be ready for the tree when we get it this weekend.

Dec. 4: Present-shopping with Daddyman
I was sick sick sick Sunday. I woke up to let out the dog at 3:40 a.m., felt a wave of nausea come over me and then was pretty much bed-bound for the next 12 hours (minus bathroom visits). The husband, who is scared of getting sick before his Dec. 18 marathon, didn't even try to make me stir. He just got the kids up and left the house, pretty much all day. They went Christmas shopping. I'm counting it.

Dec. 5: Candy canes for dessert
OK. This one also is kind of lame, but I figured, we're on a roll, how can we keep the momentum going? So, after dinner tonight, I let them have candy canes.

I'm not sure what's on the agenda tomorrow through Thursday, but on Friday we'll pick up our ornaments; Saturday, we'll get the Christmas tree; and Sunday, we'll decorate it and then, have a low-key cookie day with some friends. I might have to rely on candy cane desserts, but I think we might be able to do this thing. And if we don't, meh. I have no calendar hanging around making me feel guilty.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, low expectations are the key to happiness.

Slacker bits

2011-12-04T12:16:00.003-05:00

I feel like I've been slacking lately as a blogger. I'm not blogging as much and I'm not commenting as much. I blame the time of year since in my real life, I am not slacking but instead have been super productive. And yet, my to do list doesn't seem to be getting any shorter.

What did I say about enjoying the holiday season and not stressing? Sigh. I actually am not stressing out too much. More such thinking about all that needs to be done, shaking my head and still trying to keep everything fun and special.

This weekend we stayed home. We've been Internet shopping fools. I got Hillary's birthday present (it is on the way, dear, but might not make it exactly before your birthday), Christmas presents for the girls (although I already have to send some back because I got the wrong games for the Leapster Explorer for Peanut. Could they make it anymore confusing?) and a baby present for a college friend who had her first baby this weekend (congrats, T and M!)

I don't know that I will shop any other way but the Internet from now on. Even paying shipping costs is totally worth it to me.

I've also been cleaning, giving the house a much needed wipe down. The husband has been trying to persuade me to have someone come in once a month to clean our house. I just can't. While I hate cleaning more than anything in the world and really don't have time, I just feel weird about paying someone to do it for me. And having a stranger in my house. But after two days of cleaning, I am warming to the idea.

We did get our Christmas tree yesterday. We go to a family farm nearby every year and cut down the tree. There is a lovely gentleman who has to be in his 80s who owns the place (or maybe his sons own it now). He's always out there and always so friendly that we love going to talk to him. Peanut just want to go because they have free popcorn.

Popcorn in hand. Mouth running. All is right with the world.

Baby's first Christmas tree experience.

Cutting down the tree.

Oh, HEY. Look at this. Gizmo learned to CLIMB on TOP of the coffee table. BY HERSELF.

Putting the star on the tree.

Peanut came down the stairs this morning, rubbing her eyes and asked, "Did Santa bring my presents yet?" It's a good thing December will fly by.

Cuddliest sick baby ever

2011-12-01T14:49:00.000-05:00

I'm working from home today because Beastie is sick. We all know working from home, though I'm forever grateful for the ability to do so, is less than optimal.

But I have to say, conference calls are a lot nicer with a baby cuddled against your chest.

The Lad is 24 days away from 2. He's not really a baby anymore. But he's the snuggliest sick kid ever, so I've been enjoying every minute of today. Especially the times when I hand him his juice and he says, "Shanks."

It's not quite as good as how he used to say thank you -- "go-go," I've been mourning the loss of this particular mispronunciation -- but it's awfully sweet and heartfelt.

I'll still be friends with you

2011-11-29T16:16:00.000-05:00

"I've never had a humble opinion. If you've got an opinion, why be humble about it?" -- Joan Baez

This quote has been on my refrigerator since 2004. It came from a quote-a-day calendar (It was Sept. 30), and it was one of two quotes I saved that year. (The other one had to do with cats biting the hands that feed them. Our cat is a cranky beast.)

I have strong opinions. It's part of my charm, as Michelle will tell you. Once in college when we visited her parents, Michelle's sister asked me how I liked my coffee. "I believe in black coffee," I said. Her sister teased me -- how can a person believe in any kind of coffee? -- but I wasn't trying to be funny. It is just what I think: Coffee should be black*.

Here's another one of my firmly held beliefs: Christmas cards should not be photos.

I believe Christmas cards should be on card stock and not have my face or my boys' faces on them. I believe in finding the cutest, vintage-looking card I can. I believe in the cloud of glitter that dumps out of my sister's card every year. I believe in the foil-lined envelope that comes annually from my great uncle. I believe in the crick in my neck and the cramp in my hand I get from writing out all those cards. I believe in the wavery "I love you" my grandmas write in each card. I believe in tucking a photo into the cards of the family members who truly want a keepsake of my kiddos.

Inevitably some of my very dearest friends do things with which I do not agree. It doesn't change my mind about them or the thing in question.Using Michelle as an example: Every time I see poor little Gizmo with a ponytail antenna on top of her head, I shake my head. Children should not have antenna ponytails. I love my best friend, but not that weird ponytail.

I have seen some cute photo cards (YOURS! I'm sure yours was lovely! ), but I don't ever plan to send any. And I know I'm going to get photo cards this year -- YOURS! I hope I get yours! -- and I'll ooh and ah appropriately over the cute babies, I swear. But I can't promise I won't let them be buried behind the first glittery, handwritten Christmas card that arrives in the mail. I just can't help myself.

Other things I believe:

-- Stuffing should be made with bread cubes, not crumbs of any sort.

-- Low-fat anything is gross. Ditto for diet stuff.

-- Small babies should have their heads covered when outside. If it's hot, it just means you need to block them from the sun. Put a hat on that baby!

-- A good book solves most problems.

-- Anecdotal ledes are lazy and trite most of the time. (That makes no sense to anyone without a journalism background, but trust me.)

-- Macaroni and cheese should be topped only with salt and pepper. (The husband puts sugar on his. I just ... well, it's a wonder we're still married.)

What do you believe?

*Don't throw my love for peppermint mochas in my face. That barely qualifies as coffee.

11 months

2011-11-28T14:15:00.001-05:00

Give me cute. Good. Good.

OK. Now give me playful mixed with curious.

Now give me angry. Wow. OK. You might be overselling it a bit.

Let's try a different setting. Give me dangerous. Yes. That's it.

OK. Try this. Give me cat stuck in a tree. Yes. Perfect.

Give me, momma-please-take-the-damn-picture-because-I-don't-feel-well-and-need-a-nap. Wonderful.

Gizmo is 11 months old today. To celebrate, she has a stomach virus, the start of an ear infection and her two top teeth are breaking through. Don't you wish you were invited to the party?

It started Friday evening when Gizmo puked all over me after dinner. She had no fever and was fine after so we thought it was something she ate. She was fine all day Saturday but Sunday morning, she had it coming out the other end. By Sunday night, she was puking again.

Fortunately I already had a doctor's appointment scheduled for today for her flu second flu shot. Unfortunately the doctor's office was running way behind again today so I spent 40 minutes in the waiting room and another 40 minutes in the exam room.

To top it off, I have things due at work today. I was up for two hours in the middle of the night working on them trying to get them done.

Gizmo is now resting (hopefully for awhile) and I'm going to try to get some work done.

Have I mentioned I haven't even started planning her first birthday yet? Eeep.

Holiday bits

2011-11-27T14:43:00.001-05:00

The girls were kind enough to indulge me and wear their turkey shirts and tutus for Thanksgiving, which we spent at my parents' house with my sister and her yahoos.

My mother, who is a big believer in Black Friday, could barely contain her excitement when she realized that all of the stores we wanted to go to were opening at midnight. This seemed like a better plan to me too since I would prefer to stay up over getting up at 4 a.m.

However, what we didn't think of us was that the midnight opening would draw in more people and younger people, namely a bunch of teenagers. It was insane. I thought people were going to start throwing down over $19.99 boots at Macy's. Others went with the pack mentality of shopping. One person would stand in the very long line and others would shop bringing stocking carts full of stuff. My mom waited in line for almost an hour for one purchase.

While she was doing that, I was hating my life and wishing I could tell her no, I don't want to do Black Friday anymore. I'm going to buy everything on the Internet and it will still be better if I have to pay shipping than dealing with this. Also, I watched a woman have a one-person flash mob. Macy's had a DJ - why, I have no idea - blasting dance music at the entrance of the mall. This woman, who was in her 50s, at least, began dancing like a crazy fool. Three (3!) songs into her performance, a crowd of at least 100 people had gathered. Many were using their cellphones to capture the moment. And then, she knocked over a store display and everyone scattered like a frat party full of drunk freshmen getting busted. Still, I stood there, waiting for my mother. Never. Again.

Anyway, on to the happy bits. We did check out my hometown holiday parade. It started when I was an intern for the city while in college. I helped plan some of it and worked the night of the parade. My job was to make sure the lion (yes, lion) that arrived in a Econoline van (yes, van) did not kill anyone. I walked along side the float with a walkie-talkie and made sure the lion behaved. To this day, I am flabbergasted that anyone thought this was a good idea.

My parents are not big into crowds and hanging with people (my father would be a hermit if we let him) so we just walked around the parking lot where the floats were lined up instead of actually watching the parade. The clowns Freaked Peanut Out. She looked at them like they were known sex offenders and clung to me like a spider monkey. And while my niece and nephew practically knocked Brutus Buckeye over in their excitement, Peanut again clung to me like I was about to feed her to a wild animal. Later she told me that someday she would be excited to see the clowns and Brutus Buckeye.

Gizmo meanwhile, hung out in her stroller and clapped her hands excitedly at the lights and music.

Chill.

No clowns around? Alright. I'm cool.

slow learner

2011-11-27T12:06:00.000-05:00

I was in a bit of a funk on Thanksgiving Day.

I thought it might be that we all woke up super early -- about 5:30 a.m. -- to go to a Turkey Trot 5K the husband was running. The Boy was running the kids' race, too. The Lad, the dog and I were just along for moral support.

I thought it might have something to do with corralling two kids and a dog for multiple hours with limited amusements. Now, I can handle two kids, and I also can handle a dog, even in a crowd. In theory, this means I should be able to handle two kids and a dog without problems. In practice, I don't have enough hands. The Lad was covered in donut hole crumbs, half my coffee ended up on the ground and Brucie the dog got more caffeinated than I did.

My funk also might have been caused by Brucie's unbearable cuteness. The husband estimated at least 100 people came up to pet her, which is nice except some people are unbelievably stupid about approaching a strange dog. I warned everyone that she's a puppy and we're still teaching her not to nip -- and then at least 30 percent of them proceeded to shove their small child -- like, infant, in some cases -- right at her face. Stupid.

The funk almost went away when The Boy finished his race and came up sweaty-headed and glowing to show me his medal, and when The Lad grabbed the turkey-topped trophy that the husband won and shouted, "TURKEY! Bock, bock, dobble, dobble."

But it returned when we got home to a house that did not smell like roasting turkey -- we were having a late Thanksgiving dinner with friends -- and The Lad spilled an entire cup of orange juice on the floor.

I sobbed my way through cutting up onions to make stuffing. The husband asked if I missed my family. That wasn't it; he and the boys are my family. I just felt ... put-upon, sad, melancholy and very hungry.

The funk lifted when we went to our friends' house. I made gravy from scratch -- my grandma would be so proud -- and ate lots of pie and felt better.

Well, except for being bloated and still hungry, all at the same time. That's just Thanksgiving though, right? The holiday of the glutton.

And then yesterday, the true source of my crankiness and bottom-less appetite arrived: my period.

You would think after 18 years, I'd recognize PMS. You would be wrong.

Things to remember: Random evening at home

2011-11-22T07:57:00.001-05:00

The Lad built a rocket out of these snap-together blocks we have. It actually looked like a rocket and he flew it around and around the room, yelling, "ROCKETSHIP!"

"Lite-ning Queen on," The Lad said. "Lite-ning GO! ROCKETSHIP! Go fast!"

And just like that, I had two pint-sized story tellers. In case you can't tell, Lightning McQueen was riding in that rocket, going very fast.

---

The Boy was running around, playing with the dog. Brucie dodged, and The Boy couldn't dart as fast. He ran eye first into the corner of the cabinet. He's fine. But he does have a thin cut just under his eye on his cheek. I put a Band-Aid on it -- Lightning McQueen, coincidentally -- and every time he looked in the mirror, he giggled.

We're calling him Scarface.

---

While we were getting every jammed up for bed, the boys started running around half naked.

"Belly fight!" The Lad said.

"I don't have my shirt off," The Boy said. "I can't belly fight."

Neither the husband nor I had any idea what they were talking about. The Lad yanked on The Boy's shirt, which soon came off, and then, they chased each other around, bumping bellies. It was like tiny Sumo wrestling.

Belly fighting devolved into back fighting and then butt fighting. When we forced them to stop and get into jammies, The Boy, still giggling, informed us the kid fights were over, but now the adult butt fighting was starting. Do I have to tell you the husband and I complied?

---

Not only is The Lad telling his own stories, he's following others more closely.

"Rock. Read," he demanded before bed, so we settled into the rocking chair. We read Lightning McQueen and then he asked for "Fur-uh-nun." It took me a minute to figure out he meant "The Story of Ferdinand," which two nights ago he was calling simply "Bull."

He pointed out the flowers and the mother -- "Cow. Momma cow good." -- and the tree. And when we got to the part where Ferdinand sits on the bumblebee, he shouted.

"OH NO!"

---

These are the reasons I had kids.

The holidays

2011-11-21T18:28:00.000-05:00

This time last year, I was 11 months pregnant, or at least felt like it. The last thing I wanted to do was spend a ton of time decorating for the holidays. We were still trying to finish a bathroom and redo and decorate the nursery.

I had priorities, mainly getting that child out of me. If we celebrated the holidays at all, it was just icing on the cake. My only motivation for getting through the holidays was that once they were over, Gizmo would be born.

The holidays stress me out. The shopping, the parties, the cooking, the traveling. I remember feeling slightly disappointed after Peanut's first Christmas because it just didn't seem as Magical as I thought it should be. I was so hell bent on making everything Magical that I didn't stop to just freaking enjoy what was happening.

But this year, I am not going to let myself get stressed out. I will not be a spaz anymore. OK, I will try not to be a spaz.

I'm not going to worry that I have no idea what I am getting the girls for Christmas or for Gizmo's first birthday (or when we are going to celebrate her birthday for that matter.) I'm not going to worry about when the decorating is going to get done. I'm not going to worry about how the girls are going to react to spending the next 6 weeks in the car, traveling to see everyone.

I'm going to enjoy my baby's first birthday. I'm going to enjoy writing a letter to Santa with Peanut for the first time. I'm going to relax and laugh when Peanut and Gizmo "help" their father make Christmas cookies and make a mess. I'm going to take lots of pictures of the girls in their special Christmas pjs while they open up presents.

I'm going to soak it all in because it goes too fast. Worrying doesn't slow it down. It just makes me get gray hair faster.

Cleaning question

2011-11-20T20:22:00.001-05:00

We woke up Sunday to rain and humidity and general nastiness outside our window. I would have been happy to curl up in my chair with a book and put The Boy in front of cartoons while the husband and The Lad went for a run, however, the husband said something about it being a good day to clean the house before he left, and I felt guilty. He wasn't being passive-aggressive; he was only pointing out that we didn't have any major plans and likely weren't going to pursue any outdoor activities. He was right and the house obviously needed to be cleaned.

(I still might have shrugged it off and read, but the dog got sick the night before and cleaning her corner of the living room wasn't an option.)

So, I loaded up the CD player with a bunch of loud, dancy music, cranked up the volume and got to work. The Boy balked a bit -- he wanted me to read Curious George -- but I told him he could either entertain himself or help me ... and then danced him around the room. He happily picked up a dust rag.

Over the course of the morning, we dusted and sorted out books and toys for donations. I organized the pile of crap on the end of the counter, cleaned the gunk out of the coffee pot and the crumbs out of the toaster oven. I dusted baseboards and picture frames. I also wiped down all of our white, show-every-speck-of dirt kitchen cabinets.

You guys. Prekids, I wiped down those cabinets every single weekend, at least the fronts. I still spot clean them sporadically, meaning if there's a dirty, Lad-sized handprint on the door where the trash is, it's likely to get cleaned about the fifth time I notice it. I honestly don't remember the last time I really cleaned those cabinets before today and, though I knew they needed it, I didn't think they looked awful -- until I cleaned them. For the first time in lord knows how long, they actually were white.

If you came to my house, I don't think you would think it was dirty. I am very good about controlling clutter, especially because we live in a small space, and generally clean up big messes. (And honestly, if I knew you were coming, I probably did the five-minute panic clean before you got there.) But cleaning -- really cleaning, like scrubbing the shower and wiping down baseboards -- is the the thing I let slide. My kids get homecooked meals every night, but The Lad's highchair stays pretty sticky, is what I'm saying.

I've thought about getting a cleaning service to come in just once a month or maybe every two months to really deep clean the house. The husband had one come in before The Lad was born and coming home to a spotless house was a lovely feeling. But. But. But. I can't commit to that monthly bill. It seems frivolous when I'm CAPABLE of cleaning the house myself. Also, it seems .... I don't know what word I want, but I feel bad paying someone to scrub my toilets. I mean, let's be honest: Sometimes the reason cleaning doesn't get done is because I would rather -- and do -- spend the time napping or reading or taking the kids somewhere.

So, I'm curious. How many of you have a cleaning service? How did you decide to get one? How often do they come? Do you ever feel weird about it?

There goes my baby

2011-11-15T21:49:00.000-05:00

We have been prepping Peanut for a week now for her transition to preschool. I fretted that she wouldn't handle it well. It would be the first time that she would spend hours away from anyone but family and the babysitter. She didn't know anyone. What if she got bashful and had a potty accident? What if she forgot her manners? What if she cried the whole time because she was afraid?

We told her she would have so much FUN. Meet new friends. Learn cool things. Dance. Sing. Play. I told I would drop her off and leave but that we would always come back for her. I told her she didn't need to get upset.

I should have worried more about how I would handle it. There was a 24-hour period where I couldn't even think about her going to preschool without crying.

Tuesday morning dawned with Peanut crawling into our bed. I started singing a made-up song about school and she giggled. She was excited. Then the reality of what was about to take place occurred to her and she got her game face on. She was serious. More serious than I have ever seen my little bundle of giggles and smiles.

She didn't want to eat much breakfast. I tried to coax her, explaining that she had to have a full belly to go to school. Then she didn't like the outfit I picked out. Then she had to try on three different pairs of shoes before she was OK. I tried to be understanding while also scooting her along so we wouldn't be late for her first day.

I took pictures. She insisted that her sister be in them. (She is.) At least Peanut smiled long enough for a cute picture.

And then we were off. Her school has an optional tumbling class one day a week and a dance class the other day before school. There were fewer kids there than when we visited and Peanut very seriously looked at me and asked, "Where are all the kids, momma?" I explained that more would be coming later. Thankfully three little girls walked in about that time.

While I was writing a check, Peanut launched herself at me.

She hugged me.

She kissed me.

She looked me in the eye and quietly said, "Momma, you need to get Maddie and leave."

And with that, she turned around and left, never looking back. She didn't even notice when I walked out.

I left and cried all the way home.

When I picked her up, her teachers said she did great. She said she had fun and wanted to go back. I got a picture with an outline of her tiny little hand decorated like a turkey. She also put together a construction paper ice cream cone. She told me they learned the ABCs but did not talk about the numbers. She was rubbing her little eyes by the time we got the babysitter's house. She was exhausted.

She said she met K with red shirt and a girl with a Dora shirt but that she couldn't remember her name. She also met a boy with orange hair who she hasn't stopped talking about (which is annoying the husband beyond belief).

It will be four years tomorrow that I found out I was pregnant with this amazing being. She has gone from a squishy being who kept us up at tonight to an amazing person. She loves her little sister more than anything in the world. She is daddy's girl. She gets frustrated just like me when she can't do something. She reminds us that we can't leave her alone at home. She sings in the car and loves to have dance parties, yelling, "Get up and dance with me, momma!"

She's going to school.

Things that made today better

2011-11-15T20:23:00.001-05:00

1. This poster from Very Demotivational, found thanks to the lovely K. Every time I even THINK about this poster, let alone see it, I laugh like a fool. I need a cactus.

2. The boys rocking out on the ride home to Christina Aguilera.

3. Homemade egg mcmuffins for dinner.

4. Good things at work -- despite more computer issues. (Seriously. Need a cactus.)

5. A plan to make the after-work, pre-dinner hour less crazy. (Dog on leash, kids at the table.)

6. Good family. My mom, who works a late shift, listened to me whine for 15 minutes this morning before 8 a.m. I'm a lucky girl.

7. Good friends, in the computer and out. Even when I'm cranky, you people make me laugh.

8. An amazing husband. He came home early because he knew I was on my last legs. He also did the dishes and packed lunches so I could get tomorrow's dinner prepped.

9. Wine. One glass is a nice way to end the day.

10. Broccoli cheese soup -- this recipe is made and ready for tomorrow's dinner.

WHINE!

2011-11-14T19:38:00.001-05:00

I have a headache, a nasty one that's sitting at the base of my neck and radiating up behind my eyes. I just wrote an entire post, but I think it mostly was one big whine because of this headache, and if that's all I'm going to do, I might as well DO IT rather than force you to sit through a lengthy narrative that goes no where. See. I'm thinking of others.

So, what am I whining about tonight?

Well, first: the headache. This is exacerbated by the fact that The Boy has determined that the only acceptable speaking volume IS THIS ONE. I REMEMBER MY OLDEST NEPHEW BEING LIKE THIS A FEW YEARS AGO WHEN WE WENT ON VACATION AND MY MOM WAS LIKE, HE'S 4! THAT'S WHAT 4-YEAR-OLDS DO. Perhaps she was right. I sure as hell hope The Boy finds the volume control soon because I can't take 13 months of this. The Lad also was screechy tonight and the husband, god love him, can't function in the house if the stereo isn't on. What is wrong with silence?

Second, the boys fought tonight over a pooper scooper. Seriously.

Third, my computer crashed multiple times at work today. I could not get into our editing system for more than an hour. That does not make for a productive day.

Fourth, Brucie the puppy is crazy. I know she's crazy because she's in a crate all day and I'm really sorry about that, but I wish we could turn the crazy down a bit.

Fifth ... hmmm, I appear to have lost my whining steam.

What's getting on your nerves tonight?

And the winner is ...

2011-11-13T18:14:00.001-05:00

Of the Inspired Giveaway is Tara from Our Little Geekling!

Congrats, Tara. Send me a message either through twitter or mesullivan26 (at) gmail.com and let me know what designs you want and size. Also, if you want a onesie or a t-shirt.

I spent the afternoon finishing up Thanksgiving shirts and starting on the Christmas ones, which are much easier.

Thanks everyone for the name suggestions. I am still working on it but will keep you posted.

Inspired giveaway

2011-11-09T18:30:00.000-05:00

So I've finally done it. I have found my craft. And you get to help me with it and get a something in return.

I've spent years doing little crafts here and there. I've painted canvasses. I've made diaper cakes. I've made tutus and button letters, ribbon wreaths, fabric circles. I've thought about starting an etsy shop or maybe going to craft shows with these things but have never done it.

This week, I found the craft that inspires me the most (and what I think is the most marketable should I decide to sell it.)

It started with this:

I found it on Pinteres t a couple months ago and thought "I could totally do that." I pinned it and promptly forgot about it.

Then my sister said something about making shirts for our girls for Thanksgiving. I remembered the Christmas tree shirt and thought, "I bet there is something like that for Thanksgiving." A quick trip around Pinterest and I found it. I modified it a bit and made this over the weekend:

I put a picture up on Facebook and within 24 hours, people were asking me to make shirts for their kids and offering to pay me for them. It wasn't my intention but I was inspired. This is my craft. I can do this. In my mind, I've already designed a shirt with a sun, one with a flower, one with a birthday cake, and one with fireworks.

All of this has inspired my 2012 goal. Start my own etsy shop. Go to at least one craft show.

Here is where you come in. Leave a comment below. You can tell me your favorite whimsical word (I'm trying to come up with a name for all of this) or maybe something that you think would be cute for a t-shirt. I'm working mainly with ribbons and buttons with some fabric pieces.

I will randomly pick a winner. The winner will get two shirts. You can pick from any of the designs I have mentioned. Comments will be accepted until noon on Saturday, Nov. 12. If you win, all I ask in return is that you let me know how the shirt holds up and any suggestions that you have.

Brainwashed

2011-11-09T09:44:00.003-05:00

The husband shared this little exchange among he and the boys this morning:

(Background info: Jay Bruce and Brandon Phillips are players for the Cincinnati Reds.)

The Lad is wearing his Jay Bruce shirt and is quite pleased.
The Lad: Bruce shirt
the husband: You like your Bruce shirt?
The Lad: Bruce defense.
the husband: Yeah, Bruce does play good defense.
The Lad: Uh, huh
The Boy (whose favorite player is Gold Glove second baseman Brandon Phillips): He didn't win a Golden Glove though.
the husband: He should have.
The Lad (nodding): Glove too.

And then the husband's heart exploded with pride.... He was so cute, grinning like it was Opening Day when he told me this story. And then he had to share it on Facebook.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2011-11-08T20:40:00.001-05:00

I have spent most of the last 18 months working in the evenings. Noon to 9 p.m. (Or after. Frequently after).

I agreed to do this when I took a new job and we had one kid. The husband and I thought it would cut down on child care costs and keep Peanut with us more than with anyone else. We knew we would be single parenting - me in the mornings, him in the evenings but we thought it was still worth it. It worked well. It allowed each of us to have one-on-one time with her. I got to take her to tumbling class in the mornings last winter.

About two minutes after I took that new job and new schedule, I got pregnant. This schedule allowed me to sleep in when I was tired (and turn on Sesame Street.) It allowed me to pull myself together when I was sickest. It was great.

Then Gizmo came 10 months ago. You know what happens when you are lone wolfing it and there are two kids? You are out numbered. You wake up, change a diaper, get the toddler on the potty, change two kids out of pajamas, feed the baby, feed the toddler who wants to act like a baby, get juice, change another diaper, dump out the training potty because the toddler refuses to use the big potty, keep the baby from climbing into the training potty, get crackers, pack diaper bags, pack a lunch, fix bottles, try to make dinner, remember that you haven't eaten breakfast, make coffee instead, put the baby down for a nap, set the toddler in front of the television, hop in the shower and hope the baby naps the entire time you get ready, realize this is a pipe dream, get ready while the baby cries, get a diaper bag, pump, lunch bag and laptop bag into the car, get the kids in the car, get them to the babysitter, get to work, realize you had a couple crackers and some coffee for breakfast and scarf down lunch at your desk.

It has not been easy. (I've said it before, I will say it again. I have no idea how single parents do this on their own day in and day out.)

So when the opportunity came for me to move to days, I jumped at it. It means we actually spend less time with the kids and more money on child care. But our kids will see us together each day. We will be a family of four each day. We will have dinner together and I will be there for baths and bedtime, something I have tried not to think about missing when I call each night to check in.

Also, Peanut is finally starting preschool. We found a different place that is more convenient and they have a tumbling class one day a week and a dance class the other day before school starts. We visited it today and within five minutes of being there, Peanut declared, "I LOVE my new school!" Also, the director hugged me before we left. I'm a hugger so this was a bonding moment for me. If you hug me the first time we meet, I automatically love you.

So, while I am not one to have my cheese moved and like it, I think I digging these changes.

2 and 4

2011-11-07T20:21:00.000-05:00

The Boy started crying before dinner because I'd given him the yellow straw instead of the blue one. He cried harder when he got no straw. The Lad was fine with whatever straw was in his cup, but threw his tortilla on the floor -- repeatedly. He cried when I put him to bed at 6:30.

"Having kids two years apart is great," the husband said. "Until they're 4 and 2. Four and 2 kinda sucks."

---

This weekend, The Boy was driving me batty. He either wants to be on top of me -- literally sitting on my lap or climbing on me, which is becoming increasingly difficult considering he's over half my height and a third of my weight -- or is giving me major attitude, asking me questions 50 times in 20 seconds, repeating things like I'm stupid. Apparently, this is why my mother thinks all 4-year-olds should be shipped off to an island to work their shit out, Lord of the Flies style. He is only 3 and 3/4, however, he always has been an overachiever when it comes to troublesome developmental milestones.

Meanwhile, The Lad is adorable and violent, as only a nearly 2-year-old can be. I've caught him taking out his anger on the dog; I tell him no and he smacks poor little Brucie's nose. Of course, his petting sometimes verges into smacking territory, too, and it's no different when he's cuddling with me. He wants to sit in my lap and stroke my face -- and then he's yanking my earrings out.

So, this weekend, The Boy was in the chair yapping about something, practically jumping out of his skin because LOOK AT ME, YOU MUST LOOK AT ME NOW ALL THE TIME MOMMA LOOK AT ME, and The Lad wanted up. I picked him up. He patted my face. We hugged. I was softened by his dimples. And then, he struck. He grabbed two fistfuls of my neck. Let me repeat: Fistfuls of my neck. I don't have neck fat, you guys. He was grabbing tendons. I dumped him on the floor and demanded an apology. Before he could speak, his brother interjected.

"Snack?"

I was in pain, which he'd seen inflicted, and he couldn't even throw in a "please." They did not get a snack.

I left both of them -- and the damn dog -- in the living room and hid in the bathroom until I felt less murderous.

---

But.

I am an optimist.

When they're not being shit heads, my almost 2- and almost 4-year-olds are pretty cool, especially together. They fight, for sure, but they also make each other belly laugh. They wrestle in the tub, which, yes, gets too much water on my floor, but also is great fodder for blackmail when they're teenage punks. The Boy is taking a lot of responsibility for Brucie, never whining when we ask him to take her out or feed her. The Lad, my little comedian, always is busting out some new funny phrase.

"It's like ripping off a band-aid," I told the husband tonight.

Books: Coming down the stretch

2011-11-06T10:41:00.000-05:00

This whole reading 100 books in a year has been so very good for me. It's made me take time for myself and exposed me to so many good books.

With that said, I didn't read a lot of good books during this last grouping. In fact, very, very few would I say that I loved. I liked some and thought others were just OK. And I few, I just wanted to weep when I was done they were so bad.

I'm on my 85th and 86th book now - one I'm reading (The Dead-tossed Waves) and one I'm listening to (The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox), something I can't get used to and don't know if I will do anymore. Maybe it is the books or the narrators but I just cannot get into audiobooks. It almost feels like a chore. Then again, if I am going to make my goal, I need to utilize all the time I have, including my more-than-30-minute commute to and from work.

I accidentally read quite a bit of young adult fiction this time around. Because I get all of my books in ebook form from the library, I don't always realize it until I've started reading it and I think, "Hmm. I think this was made for the 16-year-old crowd." And then I keep reading.

Loved
The Help by Kathryn Scott: Wonderful. Loved. Don't know if I want to see the movie because I fear it will spoil my feelings for the book. This is one book that really does live up to the hype.
Front Porch Prophet: I don't know if this book is for everyone. It is a lovely, southern tale about all kinds of relationships. It took me awhile to get through this book but it was like a good piece of chocolate that I didn't want to end. I read it slowly on purpose. The characters felt very real to me.
Robopocaplypse by Daniel Wilson: If you don't want to be afraid of your car or your smartphone, don't read this book. It is an unnerving tale of how robots and computers take over the world. Gripping. I keep eyeing my phone like it is going to zap me though.
Please Ignore Vera Dietz by A.S. King: I really, really loved this book. (I did not love the ending, which felt anticlimatic) but I loved the book. I liked the writing, the structure, which was just a little different but not Different. It is young adult done right.

Liked
The Pioneer Woman by Ree Drummond: Nice story of The Pioneer Woman's courtship and wedding with her husband. I like to read the back story of bloggers. I don't read her frequently but I check in every once in awhile.
Bright Young Things by Anna Godbersen: This was a Free Friday book with Nook. I wasn't expecting to like it much given that it is hit-or-miss with these and it is young adult. This was actually pretty good. It's historical fiction set in the era of flappers and prohibition. Maybe my low expectations helped.
Overbite by Meg Cabot: Fluffy, fun story of vampires done chick-lit style. Second in a series. I liked this a little better than the first one.
Matched by Ally Condie: First in a young adult series (shocking, a series). I liked this look into the future although it felt a little bit like The Giver but slightly more edgy to attract older teens. I plan to read the next book.
Gossamer by Lois Lowry: I don't remember reading any Lois Lowry books in school, which is kind of sad because I find her books lovely. They are quick, quick reads. This one wasn't my favorite but I enjoyed it.
Number the Stars by Lois Lowry: Come to think of it, maybe I did read this one in school. Still enjoyed it as an adult.
The Messenger by Lois Lowry: The final in The Giver trilogy. Good but I liked The Giver the best.
Dani's story: Sad true story of a feral child and one family's fight to adopt her. It is a good story.

Not my cup of tea but an OK book:
The Scent of Rain and Lightning by Nancy Pickard: I liked most of this book but by the end, found myself saying, "Oh COME ON!" and "SERIOUSLY?" with the plot.
Alice Bliss by Laura Harrington: Decent young adult fiction about a girl and how her family copes with her father's death in Iraq. That's about all I remember from it. I wasn't wowed but I wasn't bored.
Orange is the New Black by Piper Kerman: This is an interesting book about a woman's stint in federal prison on a 10-year-old drug smuggling charge. It was fine but dragged for me.

The Shack: I expected more from this book, which I heard people rave about. There were some moving sections but overall, I wasn't really impressed.

Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver: I vaguely remember this as a young adult fiction that wasn't great but wasn't awful

Light on Snow by Anita Shreve: I usually like Anita Shreve. Fortune's Rock is one of my favorite books that I have read over and over again. This was just OK.

Townie by Andre Dubus: My first audiobook. It was OK. I can see how others might like it but it wasn't for me.

Backseat Saints by Joshilyn Jackson: I was really disappointed in this book. I usually love Joshilyn Jackson but I really did not like this book. It felt all over the place.

Don't blame me if you read these:
After: Story of a teen who hides her pregnancy and then throws away the baby. It follows her through the criminal justice system. No. Just no. I couldn't get on board with the main character. Young adult fiction.
Ape House by Sarah Gruen: So very disappointed by this book. This is the same woman who wrote Water for Elephants. This is no Water for Elephants.
Dark Legacy: I should have looked at the GoodReads reviews before I read this book, which I got as a Free Friday selection for my Nook. It's horrendous.
The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan: Disclaimer on this, it is the first of a young adult series and I am actually reading the second book. Why? I want to see if the series gets better or if it is really that bad. The entire time we were in Austin, I kept trying to explain to Hillary how awful this book is. She said that's why she kept reading the Twilight series even though she thought they were awful.

What are you reading?

pictures and worries

2011-11-05T14:41:00.000-04:00

My uncle has been digging up these old family photos and posting them on Facebook. The first was this beautiful shot of my mom taken by him in 1979. She was 18.

Then there were a few of my grandma and her sister. This one of my grandma was taken probably around 1958, a couple years before mom and Uncle Tom were born, 22 years before I was born.

Mom's name is Sue. Growing up, I always was called little Susie, but I look more like my biological father the older I get. I know this. But seeing these photos was weird. I see very little of myself in them. I see my sister's chin and nose and hands. My hair is about that color; maybe my narrow shoulders look like Grandma's. If I don't look like these people, who do I look like?

I haven't spoken to my biological father in nearly a decade. I don't have any desire to talk to him. I feel mostly like he's this very old friend who disappointed me and who, thankfully, moved away so we don't have rehash the unpleasantness. Except, I see traces of that person's face every time I look in the mirror. His family was dysfunctional. He and those in his family I knew were smart, strong-featured, tall -- but also cruel, delusional, addicted. His parents died when I was little. I don't have any pictures of them. Someone -- him, my grandma? -- once told me I look a great deal like his mother. She was an alcoholic, though my mother said she probably was pretty once, so I suppose this is a compliment.

I hate that my mind worries over the absent, nonexistent parent. I have a whole family who love me and raised me and support me. Mom is amazing and so is Dad, who has been a true father to me for 27 years. Mom married into a family that just wrapped my sister and me up in love. I am not missing anything. I should not be fretting over people I don't and can't know.

But still I wonder: Whose face am I wearing? Whose bones were built like mine?

I've sat on this post for two days. It seemed so melodramatic. But it's true. I wonder if this is how people who are adopted feel. I wonder about those mystery genes, though they don't matter.

And then, my uncle posted this picture.

That's me, around 3. My first thought was, "I look like The Boy." Then, "The Lad has my smile."

I'm not a little girl any more, trying to figure out why my biological father is an asshole. I'm a grown woman with a family of my own. And, while I am a collection of genes, I am my own person.

I can't control the past. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see a bit of my biological father -- my nose, the wrinkles staring to appear on my forehead -- and it feels, because of all the memories tangled up with him, like physical proof of the worst of me. I can't help that. I can't erase those bad associations.

But I can control the present. The boys are going to get some of those same traits. I'm going to do the best I can to make sure when they look in the mirror and see me 30 years from now -- see my nose or my lips on their own faces -- that those characteristics only make them smile and wonder wryly when they got so old.

I hope they remember ...

2011-11-03T17:49:00.000-04:00

I hope the girls remember family time in our bed on Saturday mornings. Peanut jumping into our bed while we wait for Gizmo to wake up. Bringing Gizmo back to bed, making us a cozy family of four. Watching Gizmo try to dive headfirst off the bed and Peanut laughing and laughing with her father and begging him to take her to get donuts.

I hope the girls remember our dance parties. Shaking their booties. Singing. Laughing. Swinging and spinning. Peanut yelling "Again! Again!" asking for her song of the day while Gizmo bops up and down on the floor.

I hope the girls remember singing in the car. The whole family singing to Taylor Swift, Hot Chelle Rae (shame. oh the shame) and momma trying to get them to listen to something decent.

I hope the girls remember their time together. Playing together at such a young age. Wrestling each other in Gizmo's crib while I get ready in the mornings. Splish-splashing in the tub, taking turns sitting closest to the running faucet.

I hope they remember looking through our wedding album and momma and daddy trying to explain why their sweet little girls weren't in any of the pictures. (Because you weren't born yet. Because you weren't momma's belly yet. Just because.) And Peanut later saying, "That's when you and daddy got married. I wasn't in your belly yet."

I hope they remember their matching fleece jackets and momma taking time to coordinate their outfits.

I hope they remember their father making them cheesy toast and pigs in a blanket. And how he got down on the floor and wrestled with them.

I hope the girls remember that I told them that I love them to the moon and back 18 times a day.

I hope they remember the tickling. The kisses. The hugs. The times we tell them how smart they are. How sweet they are. How lovely they are.

I don't know why I have been thinking about this lately. Maybe it's because I see just how quickly they are growing and changing. Peanut is drawing actually people with faces instead of squiggle lines. She starts indoor soccer in a couple weeks and I'm finally (FINALLY!) able to move ahead with getting her in preschool (more on that another day). Gizmo is experimenting with standing, balancing all on her own for a few seconds at a time, wearing a look of determination that says "I know I can just walk over there." She started raising her hands over her head when we cry "HOW BIG IS GIZMO? SOOOOO BIG!" She has two teeth. She cries when we tell her no, like we broke her heart.

And as all this happens, I keep thinking "I hope we all remember this."

"This is the BEST Halloween EVER!"

2011-11-01T09:02:00.000-04:00

"This is the BEST Halloween EVER!"

This is what my darling daughter shouted after every single house while trick-or-treating. The same child who was completely mute last year and refused to say "trick-or-treat" and "thank you," making me feel like the worst parent ever.

(I wouldn't let Peanut go trick-or-treating until she could actually say thank you because it felt wrong to me. If she's asking for candy, she needs to be appreciative. So last year was the first year and she was a bit overwhelmed.)

That was not the case this year. Peanut said "trick-or-treat" and "thank you" at each house and even started adding a "happy Halloween" on her own. She ran from house to house with the reckless abandon that made me yell "SLOW DOWN" all the while enjoying her excitement. And every time she yelled "This is the BEST Halloween EVER!" I thought this is what makes all the headaches and sleepless nights of parenthood worth it.

We did have one almost near disaster thanks to a not-so-small-child appropriate candy hander outer (yes, I think I just made that up.) A guy dressed as a zombie was slumped motionless in a chair next to a sign that read, "Help yourself." It was difficult to tell if it was a dummy or a real person so Peanut, my nephew and the husband walked up very slowly examining him. By the time they got to the front porch, a small crowd had gathered behind them. The man sprung into action, scaring the bejeesus out of Peanut who was pushing small children out of her way to get away. My sister even tried to scoop her up but Peanut juked past her screaming, "Momma, Momma, Momma!" I feared she would be scarred for life but she recovered.

So I posted this picture of Peanut wearing her Jessie boots on my Facebook and Connie Schultz, former Cleveland Plain Dealer columnist, Pulitzer Prize-winning writer and Sen. Sherrod Brown's wife, "liked" it. It pretty much made my day.

Full Jessie costume minus the hate because somebody didn't want to wear it even though it was Awesome with red glitter.

I never did get a decent picture of them together. Gizmo just went along for the ride. She was a horse. No candy for her this year.

Showing off her tooth. I think this might be my favorite picture of her. Ever. It pretty much sums up her personality.

Momma and baby. She rode the entire hour we went trick-or-treating and never once fussed. She might be the easiest baby ever.

After trick-or-treating with daddy. She was being quite the wiggle worm after spending so much time in the stroller.

After all was said and done, I raided Peanut's bag for her Almond Joy's because what kid wants coconut and almonds? I was doing her a favor.

Fess up. What candy do you steal from your kid?

Boo humbug

2011-10-31T20:10:00.002-04:00

There are things about parenthood I was expecting to really love that, now that I have to do them, I do not enjoy. Bath time is one. I find it boring.

Halloween -- specifically trick-or-treating -- is another such thing.

I'm not a complete Halloween scrooge. I love seeing the kiddos, mine and others, in their costumes. I love watching the pure joy as they destroy a fun-size candy bar. I like helping them figure out what thing they want to pretend to be and I love how serious little kids are about really being that character, whatever it is.

But I don't like trick-or-treating. I know it's culturally acceptable, but I hate the begging for candy. I know it's the kids doing it, but it feels like I'm begging. (I never even liked asking for rides when I was in high school, before I got my driver's license.) I get all anxious about the boys saying, "Trick or treat," and "please" and "thank you." I want my kids to be well-behaved and adorable. I want them to have happy, perfect memories. It's just too much stress -- and I know it's ridiculous and don't want to spread that stress to the kids.

Which is why I'm glad my in-laws have been in town the last few Halloweens. They take the kiddos for trick-or-treat and I get to stay home and pass out candy. Win all around.

What parenthood stuff would you rather delegate?

Brucie

2011-10-30T20:58:00.004-04:00

Brucie has arrived.

Photo by our extremely talented coworker, photojournalist Deborah Silver

Just to be clear, Brucie is a she. We named her after Jay Bruce, No. 32 for the Cincinnati Reds and The Lad's favorite player. It's also a name The Lad can say clearly. She weighs about 10 pounds and is 9 weeks old. An Australian cattle dog, she will be about 45 pounds fully grown. She squeaks and sighs every time she lays down. Our kids wore her out within hours, which I think says a lot about our boys. This is a herding dog, bred to run for hours, and my boys had her whooped and winded within just a few. This is my life, people.

The husband and I drove to get her Saturday. It was a six-hour round-trip journey, and we left the boys with the in-laws, who are in town for a week, on Friday night to simplify things. So much alone time felt like a much-needed date after my week of travels. I told him all The Blathering stories I didn't manage to share in the 16 hours I was home Sunday before leaving for Cincinnati. He shared all the work stuff that happened while I was away. We discussed song lyrics and puppy names, the boys and writing, the end of the Iraq war and the state of the economy. And on the way home, I had a lap full of warm puppy. It was a good date.

The boys were thrilled to have their very own puppy finally. Then they realized a puppy will jump. And nibble ears. And chew toys. "NO Brucie! Puppy no eat me!" This has come from The Lad's mouth numerous times over the last couple days. The Boy is jumpy and timid around all dogs, which is something I'd like to stop, and Brucie is no exception. I've been busting out the "Farmer Boy" references all weekend: "Remember, Boy, it's just like Almanzo and the oxen and horses. No sudden movements. Be still and calm and tell her No! in a firm voice." Tonight, with both Brucie and The Boy worn out, they took a walk together. It was pretty damn cute.

I think I'm more excited than the boys to have a dog again. I am not looking forward to the inevitable messes and chewing. But she has puppy breath. And she cuddles. And I really just believe in having dogs. While I love my cat and Joce (the cat) will come comfort me while I'm sick, it's more of "HEY! you're sick. Let me lay on your head." I'm looking forward to having a dog, a loyal friend that will say, "Hey! You're sick. I'm going to lay right here by your feet so you're not alone." Of course, I haven't scooped any poop yet.

What about you? Do you think a family needs a pet? What kind?

10 months

2011-10-28T12:57:00.001-04:00

So. Gizmo is 10 months old today. What can I tell you about her ...

She is in the 50th percentile for her weight, 75th for her head size and 95th for her height. The husband and I are not tall people. We aren't hobbits but we aren't dunking any basketballs either. We figure she might be getting the height from other genes in our families. I don't think Peanut ever cracked above 50th percentile for her height.

She is so very mobile. The doctor was in disbelief when I told him she has been cruising for about a month. This week she's trying to stand unassisted. It lasts for half a second but she is trying. While she's got her gross motor skills down, she still hasn't really developed much language beyond babbling. She's the second kid. It will happen when it happens. While she doesn't have words, she has no problem letting us know when she is happy, or Not happy.

Gizmo is a lover. She kisses and kisses and kisses. Big, open-mouthed smackers that leave the receiver wet with slobber. They are fabulous. She smiles and kicks her feet and flaps her arms when we get her out of her crib in the morning and then snuggles up into our arms. I'm not a morning person so this is a great way to start the day.

She started sleeping through the night regularly this week, which has been great. However, it has meant dropping a feeding. Normally, I would be OK with that but for some reason, she has stopped taking a bottle while I'm at work and really isn't showing much interest in nursing. I remember Peanut went through this phase for about a week. I was a nervous wreck thinking something was wrong and that she was STARVING. MAH BABY. This time, I'm trying to temper my crazy. If she doesn't start nursing or taking a bottle more next week, I will get creative.

I think there are two factors with the lack of interest in nursing. One, she would rather have Real People Food that she can shove into her mauw all by herself, thank you very much. And two, her poor little gums are exploding with teeth. That can't feel good.

Soon, we will be planning her 1st birthday party...

Happiness

2011-10-24T21:31:00.002-04:00

After returning from The Blathering last night, I saw someone suggest on Twitter that people post what is making them happy. I thought this was a great idea, positive vibes and all.

I am happy that I got to spend a long weekend with Hillary. It is the longest we've spent together in six years. The last time I spent that much time with her, I went to see her in Florida before I got married. Two weddings and four kids later, we finally got to spend some quality time together, creating new memories and reminiscing about old ones. We even had ice cream for lunch one day.
Austin had some great shopping, specifically jewelry. I got some great pieces while there, including this oversized flower Kendra Scott ring and a necklace with a mermaid riding a seahorse (I got it for $6.50 at what I'm pretty sure was an old people's sweat shop. Everything there was made by senior citizens and it was dirt cheap. Ridiculously cheap.$4 for a knitted cap. $4.88 for stained glass ladybugs. I felt kind of guilty but not guilty enough to not buy it.)
I met so many cool ladies while in Austin, specifically Erica and Heather. We picked them at the airport and spent a good part of the weekend together. I cannot tell you how fabulous these two are. Hilarious. The stories they told had me crying from laughing so hard. Everyone else we met was just lovely and no one freaked out when I hugged them. I think the blogs in my reader will triple after this weekend and I'm going to spend more time on Twitter.
One of the best moments was when I found Mrs. Irritation in the Dallas airport through Twitter. We had never met before so we were describing what we were wearing via Twitter, much to the delight of others watching the conversation who said it was like a bad Lifetime movie. Even better, we were booked to sit next to each other on the plane from Dallas to Austin. It was a great start to the weekend.
And finally, it was great to come home to a happy, healthy family excited to see me. Everyone was pleased with the presents I brought home (Even the husband who got a figurine of a donkey working on a laptop. He's got a thing about donkeys.)

What's making you happy?

Off again

2011-10-24T09:25:00.001-04:00

I got home from The Blathering last night a little after 7. My boys went to bed a little after 8. I had a couple hours with them this morning before they went to school. I leave for Cincinnati this afternoon. This is not enough time to hug on them. I miss them already -- the husband, too.

I've just been gone a couple days, but they seem to have gotten bigger. While I was wondering around South Congress shopping and reminiscing with Michelle, The Lad learned to say, "No way!" and The Boy is figuring out how to spell. The husband is a great dad and they all were fine without me. I'm grateful for it, but a selfish part of me wishes they needed me just a little bit more. A couple weeks ago, I ran into a woman whose boys are grown; the last one left this fall for college. She told me she realized she hit a new parenting milestone: For the first time in 20 years she needs her kids more than they need her. I nodded and said, "Yeah, that's what happens, I suppose," but I don't think I understood until this morning when The Lad woke up and, instead of shouting for me, he yelled for Daddy.

I'm being all maudlin because I don't really want to leave my kiddos again today. Don't mind me. Just go hug your kids.

13 things you need to know about me ... The Blathering edition

2011-10-19T16:54:00.000-04:00

For those of you not going to The Blathering or who don't care about The Blathering, I'm sorry. I'm doing another post about it. Here are the 13 things you need to know about me ...

1. I have spent entirely too much time on Twitter this week discussing traveling with breastmilk. I was tempted to wean Gizmo before this but didn't. She's almost 10 months old and I really want to nurse for a year like I did with Peanut.

2. Hillary and I have been friends for more than a decade, which suddenly makes me feel very old. In college, we sometimes watched Friends reruns and movies while in the same twin bed. All of our guy friends had weird fantasies about our life in a sorority house. They were always disappointed when we told them that is all we did.

3. In my day, I used to be able to drink with the best. Now, not so much. Every once in awhile, I think I'm still 21. It never works out well for me. I will try to remember this weekend that I am not 21. That said, I'm not afraid to have a Bloody Mary with brunch.

4. I am a wolf pack kind of person. I have a very small group of people that I interact with regularly and consider my close friends. However, I am really looking forward to meeting all kinds of new people and expanding my wolf pack.

5. I am a hugger. I see no shame in hugging you the first time I meet you.

6. I'm a journalist who loves breaking news. If we are at a bar and CNN is on with breaking news, I will bust out my phone and figure out what is happening. If it's another exotic animal escape, I not be able to talk about anything else the rest of the night.

7. I cuss like a sailor. If you are offended, please feel free to speak up and I can tone it down. I'm also really great at spelling out curse words since I don't cuss in front of the girls. Although come to think of it, I should probably stop doing that since I don't want Peanut to go to preschool and spell s-h-i-t.

8. I'm trying to read 100 books in a year. Hillary is my book inspiration although we can rarely agree on books. If you've read a good book lately, I'd love to hear it.

9. The only animal that I have a negative physical reaction to is bats. Snakes, spiders, mice don't really bother me. Bats make me Very Uncomfortable. You probably won't see me at the bat bridge.

10. I love hearing about people's birth stories. I'm fascinated by how people chose to give birth. Feel free to tell me your birth story.

11. I am very jealous of Hillary's new short hair. I decided to follow her lead and grow my hair out to donate. I'm still growing and it is driving me crazy. But her hair looks great.

12. I am terrible with names and am so paranoid about calling people the wrong name that I just don't use names.

13. I have two girls that go by nicknames on the blog Emery (Peanut) is 3 (going on 13) and Madeline (Gizmo) is just shy of 10 months. Madeline is sometimes Maddie but lately I've come to think of her as Madeline Sarah since I'm always chiding her for doing something dangerous.

My good guy

2011-10-18T20:08:00.001-04:00

About a year ago, I was sitting around moaning about how I wanted to go to The Blathering. The husband came home one night and said he'd figured what to get me for my 30th birthday, coming up in December.

"It won't be a surprise," he said. "But I'm giving you a trip on your own. Go to The Blathering."

Now, I would have had like a week to find tickets, make arrangements at work -- where I was only a month into a new job -- and pack. Plus, there was no way Michelle, my best friend and co-author of this blog, could go, because she was pregnant. So I asked if I could save my trip for a year. Half the fun of any trip is the planning and anticipation, after all. The husband agreed and for the last year, I've been looking forward to The Blathering.

My flight leaves day after tomorrow.

Last Thursday, my boss came up to my desk at 5 p.m. and asked if he could walk me out; he needed to ask me something. There was this training program available and could I do it? The only catch: It was next week and in Cincinnati.

I really wanted to go. But when I looked at the calendar I realized I'd get back from Austin on Sunday and need to leave for Cincinnati on Monday. And remember, this past weekend was our Pumpkin Party. And my in-laws get in on Tuesday for a week. We get the puppy on Oct. 29 and the next day the husband runs a half marathon.

I said all this to my husband. I was talking myself out of taking this opportunity.

"I think you should go," he said.

"But --"

"You should go," he said. "We'll be fine."

As I said, my flight to Austin leaves Thursday morning. I'll be home 24 hours in the seven-day period after that. Say a little prayer for my husband. While I'm hanging out with my best friend and meeting new ones, going out for fancy-pants dinners and drinks, getting professional experience and hanging out with old friends, he's going to be wiping noses, changing diapers and refereeing fights.

He's a good man.

Smell eraser

2011-10-17T20:14:00.000-04:00

We had our 8th annual Treasure Coast Pumpkin Party on Saturday. This little party has grown and changed along with our life down here. It started as a quiet little get-together with some pumpkin desserts to make my husband a little less homesick for his hometown after we moved to Florida. The next year, when we moved into our house and gained a yard, it turned into a drunken party with a male Miss Pumpkin wearing mini gourds as a bra and smashed pumpkins in the empty lot next door. For the next couple years, it was much the same -- crazy costumes and carnival-type games and lots of beer. Even my boys got involved, in utero, in the pumpkin fun. They and other babies, as they've arrived, have donned pumpkin costumes and nommed on pumpkin muffins while their parents sip pumpkin beers.

The party has grown much less crazy. It's still fun, but instead of seeing the last guest out at 3 a.m., we're snoozing in bed now having already tidied up the worst of the party mess.

That being said, in all those party-hearty years, I never once ended up with vomit in my house. Pumpkin soup overflowed all over my stove? Yes. Pumpkin innards hardened on my floors? Yes. Pumpkin ass-cheek pants (don't ask) in a tree in our front yard? Yes.

But vomit? Never.

No, it took a kid to puke at the pumpkin party. ***

So, in case you're ever in a situation where your furniture has been covered in vomit and, though the person or persons responsible have cleaned it up (god bless my friend for cleaning up after her kid), it still SMELLS of vomit, here's how you get rid of the smell:

Step 1: Sponge the affected area with baking soda. I shook some baking soda onto the cushion, let it sit for a bit and then used a wet dishcloth, wrung out, to blot out the powder.

Step 2: Mix a solution of vinegar and water. I didn't measure. Maybe a 2:1 ratio of water to vinegar. And I used white vinegar.

Step 3: Scrub the affected area with the vinegar solution. With a different dishcloth, I sponged the vinegar solution onto the area, then scrubbed it in with an old toothbrush.

Step 4: Allow to air-dry, preferably in sunshine.

The vomit smell should be gone, replaced with a sort of general, old furniture sort of smell. It's not lemon-fresh or anything, but it does not smell of puke.

***Lisa, if you're reading this, please know that it really was no big deal. I just thought someone else might find this information handy. Kids puke. I hope your little guy feels better.

Pumpkin pictures

2011-10-16T17:52:00.001-04:00

We took our annual trip to the pumpkin patch this weekend. I both love and hate these trips. I love them because Special Memories! Traditions! I hate them because I feel like everything has to be Special and really, we are just getting pumpkins.

Anyway. We did have fun and Gizmo only fussed half the time and Peanut only cried once. For the win.

Everyone in the pumpkin bin.

Our little pumpkin with daddy.

Please, look at the camera. Momma's trying to capture special memories.

OK. Close enough.

What is this random rock that I'm sure I can fit in my mouth?

It was very windy so most of the pictures had Peanut with hair in her face.

Love.

Trying to get solo shot of Gizmo while holding her.

And then, we bedazzled out pumpkins, which is still my favorite way to decorate.

How was your weekend?

Pink

2011-10-15T13:13:00.001-04:00

I can be an insensitive jerk sometimes.

It is a symptom of working in a newsroom where you hear, write and read about horrible things everyday. Children get hurt. People lose their jobs. Sometimes their lives. I've developed a weird sense of humor to deal with it. But sometimes, something breaks through.

This month is breast cancer awareness month. Our newspaper makes a pretty big deal about it, writing plenty of informative articles and even printing the paper on pink newspaper print one day.

It's been my responsibility to edit most of these breast cancer stories.

"I want $1 for every time I read the word 'breast' this month. Then I can retire early," I told my boss.

"I want them to find a cure for the disease just so we can stop writing about it," I told my husband.

I told you I can be an insensitive jerk.

But today, a moment with a stranger in a nail salon made me realize why we write all of the stories.

A woman was with her two daughters, getting her nails done when a group of about six people all dressed in pink, carrying pink roses surrounded her. She looked up in surprise and started crying. They told her they had just done the annual breast cancer walk for her. That they signed a survivor quilt for her. Because she was a survivor.

She explained to those of us around her that she was just diagnosed with breast cancer and had a surgery scheduled for Monday.

I sat there and cried with this woman. This stranger.

I'm an insensitive jerk who cries when other people cry. Go figure.

This experience reminded me of this blog. She's the sister of a co-worker and she was diagnosed with breast cancer this year. At 27. Damn. I cannot tell her story as well as she can, so all I can ask is for you to do is check her blog out.

And I promise to stop complaining about reading the word breast and just be thankful that a women's issue gets so much attention.

Overheard: Brothers

2011-10-14T08:02:00.002-04:00

The Lad and The Boy are playing puzzles in The Boy's bedroom. Seconds after I suggested the idea -- The Lad wanted me to help put the thing together; I told him to ask The Boy for help -- screams erupt. A growl from The Boy follows.

Boy: This doesn't go there. GRRRRR.

Lad: (Screams)

Boy: UGH! I'm having a hard time with him!

Lad: (Screams)

Boy: NO! That doesn't go there. Lad! Here.

Lad: (smacking noise)

Boy: Lad, how many times do I have to tell you: I don't need the hammerheads. (It's a dinosaur puzzle.)

Lad: GAH!

Boy: HEY! If you want to throw puzzles pieces, then stop. OW! OW! What the heck are you doing?!

Lad: (emerges from room crying)

Boy: (still in the room) If you calm down I'll let you see. If you calm down, I'll show you how to build. Be quiet, Lad. .... He's mad because I wouldn't let him put the pieces there and here.

This week

2011-10-13T20:42:00.001-04:00

The Lad came home Tuesday with a fever of 103. But by the time he was showing any sort of symptoms -- stillness, The Lad was still and the daycare ladies knew this was a problem; does that tell you what life with this kid is like? -- it was the usual pick-up time. I was ready to stay home with him on Wednesday, but The Lad woke up perfectly fine. I was all settled in at work when the husband called.

Daycare would not take The Lad.

The husband signed the sick book, and once you sign the sick book, you can't bring the kid in the next day. Of course, the husband didn't know that -- apparently, he a) did not read the school handbook I told him to take a look at and b) did not listen to me last time I was annoyed about this very necessary, but not always convenient rule. He was very irritated. He became more irritated when I sided with the daycare ladies and was all like, Dude. You signed THE SICK BOOK.

Then, I got irritated because while I was getting things in order to leave work, the husband called me twice in a two minute span. (Once was to tell me he didn't want to bring The Lad into the office to hand him off to me. Apparently, he's still shell-shocked from the time The Lad projectile vomited all over his boss' office.) I got more irritated when, after corralling Beastie down our open office stairs and across the parking lot, I arrived to find the husband had parked too close to my car. I couldn't get the door open more than a foot to get the kiddo inside.

"Jesus, Mike!" I snapped.

"Je-jus Mike. Je-jus Mike."

---

So, I took Beastie to the doctor who determined the kiddo had some sort of crud stuck in his lungs. He prescribed a nebulizer treatment. We used to have to do neb treatments with The Boy all the time, and while he was freaked out a little at first, he mostly just sat and took it.

Not The Lad. He wrestled and writhed and cried and smacked at me. The nurse gave him a sucker, thinking he'd hold still to eat it. He took two licks then pitched on the floor. We were not coming near him with that thing. He eventually breathed in enough to make him sound like he was hacking up a lung.

While the doctor was giving me the scripts, The Lad opened the door and went walking down the hall, one hand in the air behind him.

"BYE BYE."

---

At CVS, waiting to get scripts filled, The Lad and I picked out some candy for our annual pumpkin party and a pumpkin bucket to hold the goodies. He carried the pumpkin and was great until I made a strategic mistake by taking time to look at makeup. I turned around to find him with the pumpkin bucket on his head.

"Pum-pin. Pum-pin hat," he giggled. And then he ran.

I left without my eyeliner.

---

This morning, the husband had to go to an appointment early, so I turned on the TV to babysit while I showered. Halfway through, The Boy popped into the bathroom.

"Momma, the bug man's here!"

Assuming our exterminator was standing on the front doorstep waiting to be let in, I flew out of the tub, wrapped up in a towel and my robe -- thank god I keep a robe there, hanging useless 364 days of the year! -- and ran sopping wet into the living room.

And there stood the bug man. The Boy had unlocked our deadbolted front door and let him in.

We had a serious discussion on the way to school about strangers and not letting them into our home.

---

How's your week?

Things you may or may not care about

2011-10-11T17:54:00.000-04:00

I have all of my outfits planned for The Blathering. This will not stop me from changing my mind or taking two pairs of extra shoes or extra outfits. Hillary and I have sent each other pictures of our Saturday night outfits and I sent her a list of everything else I am wearing. The husband just shakes his head. (For those of you who don't know, The Blathering is a get together for women, mostly bloggers to hang out. This year it is in Austin and we fly in next week.)

****

This week is an adventure in child care. Tonight we are going to concert so the husband's brother and his wife are coming to watch the girls. (I am working early, leaving, picking up the girls, getting them home and getting my butt to Columbus - an hour away - where I will meet the husband to see Matt Nathanson).

Friday night the husband I both have to work so the girls are going to my parents where they will stay overnight. The husband will stay there too once he gets off and will bring them home Saturday. (My parents live in the same area where the husband works so it is easier for him to stay there than try to bring them home in the middle of the night.)

And then Saturday night we are going to a party for some friends. I think the husband's other brother and his girlfriend are watching the girls but I need to double check that plan.

Oh and I will be gone four days next week at The Blathering. While all of it will be fun, I hate spending so much time away from them in such a short about of time. My luck Gizmo will start walking while I am gone.

****

I was ridiculously excited to find out that our new laptop has a camera in it so that I can skype while I am away in Austin. I can skype from my new phone (which should come any day. I will hunt down the FedEx man if I have to). So if Gizmo does decide to start walking while I'm gone, at least I can witness it that way. (Is it just us or does everything go bad at the same time? Our laptop and my phone both died at about the same time, which is why we had to get new ones.)

****

I taught Peanut how to balance a grape under her nose and above her lip and then let it drop into her mouth. We had a lot of laughs about this but I kept thinking, "some teacher is not going to find this amusing when she goes to school."

Speaking of school, I'm going to look at a preschool for Peanut next week. We are a little behind on this. We had a place picked out but logistically it wouldn't work out well with the husband's job change. So we pulled her about 12 hours before she was supposed to start. I think I've found a new place that should work. They look great on paper but I want to go see them in person.

I have felt like a neglectful mother for not having her in school yet. I cannot figure out how parents get their kids to and from preschool when they work.

****

And I leave you with this photo:

Peanut thought this "scarf" would look great with her daddy's shirt. This is why I love this kid.

This is me

2011-10-10T20:32:00.000-04:00

I got my hair cut!

This is old news for those of you who are friends with me on Facebook, so, sorry to be redundant. But seriously. This is way more exciting than the puppy. And if I do say so, cuter than my boys. Excuse the grainy photobooth pic and the tired, post-work, post-supper, almost-bedtime eyes. My hair is short!

I have been growing my hair out for a year, maybe longer. I wanted a change and I wanted to donate it again to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths programs, which does wigs for adults. Partly, I like the charity. Mostly, I just really loved the instant attitude lift of chopping off that much hair in one fell swoop. The first time I donated, in 2006 after my wedding, I was sassy for weeks afterward.

So, I grew my hair long. Some days I liked it. I felt feminine. Being able to pull it into a ponytail or bun felt freeing and easy. I liked tickling my boys' faces with it. I used it as a worrying tool, twisting it and stroking it across my face -- often without even realizing I was doing it, which got embarrassing at work. And that was the thing: I never felt like a grown up with long hair. I am not and never will be someone who has the patience or talent to do my hair, so mostly my hair just hung. And my hair is naturally wavy -- that picture up there? the only thing I did to my hair today was blowdry it -- and that's great for the weekend, but with work clothes, I just felt unkempt. I felt like my hair, my flyaway mussy hair, was the only thing anyone was seeing of me.

I'm going next week to the Blathering and it was making me a little ill to be meeting so many people for the first time with my hair long. That's not really me. The real me is the girl with the short hair cut. When my hair is short, I feel pretty. I feel feisty and smart and ready to talk to anyone (to argue with anyone!) and do whatever. I said I felt feminine with long hair and that's true to a point. I felt like I looked like a woman is supposed to look -- but just any woman, a generic woman. With short hair, I am in touch with my own femininity. I like the curve of my neck and the shape of my face. I feel more put together and chic. I feel like you can see the shape of my bones and the light in my eyes.

Anyone who knows me, knows this is true and they've been nothing but happy about the cut. But people I just know casually are funny. "You got your haircut," they say. "Do you like it?"

I found my hairstylist randomly, when I did the first donation. Mine was the first hair she chopped off and she was nearly crying when she did it, scared to death that I was going to bawl. When I walked into the salon Saturday, I expected to just get a trim. I didn't think my hair was long enough to donate. But Steph pulled out the measuring tape and before I knew it, I had five ponytails in my hair, each nearly a foot long, and she was snipping them right off. Her assistant looked on, terrified.

"Don't worry," Steph said. "Hillary's not a crier."

When she handed me the hair, I looked at it and laughed.

And when I got home, The Lad said, "Momma pitty (pretty)." My day couldn't have gotten any better.

Friday bits

2011-10-07T16:46:00.003-04:00

It is wet and cold here today. Well, coolish. In the right breeze. This is what we call fall.

It's supposed to rain all weekend, which is good because I need to do a bunch of baking for our annual pumpkin party, but bad because we also had big plans for yard work to be done before said party. Weirdly, I am not worried about the yard work not getting done. Ask me again next Saturday just before people are supposed to arrive.

---

The sun broke through and there is a gigantic rainbow just outside our office window. Frequent and glorious rainbows are one of the perks of Florida.

---

I just finished "Mansfield Park" by Jane Austen. I thought I had read it in college, but after watching the movie (the version with Johnny Lee Miller) the other night, I realized if I had, I didn't remember it, so I picked it up. Geez oh pete! That book -- and the movie -- made me so squirmy and feel such sympathy for the characters. There are just so many horribly awkward, humiliating scenes, and the characters are just so NOT NICE. I love that something written 200 years ago can feel relevant.

---

I might be burying the lede a bit here -- and using journalism jargon, just to be even more obscure! -- but we decided this week to add to our family.

We're getting a puppy, an Australian cattle dog. I didn't think it was fair -- or sane -- to bring a puppy into a house before we throw a huge party, and then I'm leaving for a four-day weekend (THE BLATHERING!, which yes, I do think of in all caps.) So, we're bringing her home Oct. 29. This is going to be a busy month.

We're 99 percent sure her name is going to be Brucie. Yes, I know, it's a boy's name. But it's something that The Lad can say clearly because he is obsessed with the Cincinnati Reds player Jay Bruce. And hearing him say, "Puppy! Brucie Puppy!" is too darn cute. Just like her.

Conversations with a 3-year-old

2011-10-06T09:55:00.001-04:00

Peanut: I have something to say.

Me: What's that?

Peanut: I have to say I love you.

Me: Aww. Thank you. I love you.

A few minutes later ...

Peanut: I have something to say.

Me: You do?

Peanut: Yes. You are beautiful. And pretty. And Gizmo is pretty. And I'm pretty.

.......

Peanut: I don't like the seahorse. (talking about her sister's glowworm-like seahorse that plays music but is in desperate need of batteries so the music doesn't sound like a dying cat.)

Me: Why don't you like the seahorse?

Peanut: It makes me nervous.

.....

Peanut: I just want to be alone. Gizmo is following me. She's following me from that couch to that couch every day. I just want to be alone.

Me: Then just go up to your room. You can be alone there.

Peanut: I don't want to be alone in my room. I want to be alone in your room. But. I can't be alone in your room. You can't leave me alone there. I'm too little. I can't be by myself because the lights might be out and then it would be dark. (big sigh) I just don't want to be alone... Can I go to your room and play the iPad alone?

Question time

2011-10-04T21:30:00.000-04:00

Question time, it's question time. Time to answer my questions. (Sing to whatever melody pops in your head.)

1a. What are your kids going to be for Halloween?
My answer: Peanut is going as Jessie from Toy Story. This was after she asked to be a chameleon, a peacock, Jessie and a pink crayon all in a span of one minute. While we were at the Disney store (where she proclaimed over and over again, "Momma, I want to dress like a priiiinnncessssssss!"), I noticed the Toy Story costume accessories were on sale. I grabbed the boots, which she could even wear with other outfits, and the hat and said, "How about Jessie for Halloween?" Peanut agreed.

Now I have to get the rest of the costume. I'm debating making the cow-print chaps myself, putting them over jeans and then just topping it with a white button-down. (And by making them, I mean cutting them out, gluing the edges down and using some iron-on tape to hold them onto the jeans temporarily.)

As for Gizmo, because I like my themes, we will probably go with some kind of farm animal. Most likely a sheep, because sheep are cute. I saw a Toy Story alien costume that was cute but seemed very cumbersome with only the baby's face visible.

1b. How much are you comfortable spending on a costume?
My answer: I'm like to say no more than $20 per kid but it will probably be more like $30, which just seems like a lot for a night of walking around the block asking for candy. But the pictures (and the memories) will last forever, right?

2. What kind of phone do you have? Do you like it?
My answer: Right now I have a Droid HTC Eris. It is NOT working well for me AND it's out of warranty AND I'm 2.5 months from getting an upgrade. After complaining to my carrier, they said they would upgrade me now but won't let me get an iPhone, which is what I really, really, really wanted.

Like a little kid waiting for his Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas wanted.

I'm very bummed about this and I'm debating keeping the crappy phone for a couple more months (people can't always hear me, apps randomly quit, it scrolls inexplicably to the left while I'm texting, making my texts unreadable) so that I can get the iPhone OR do I suck it up and get a new Droid phone, which will be lovely but not as lovely as the iPhone.

3. How do you read? Traditoinal? eBooks? Audiobooks?
My answer: This year I've stuck completely to eBooks. When I got my nook, I bought quite a few until I figured out our library system and found they had a decent selection of eBooks. This week, I started listening to "Townie" on audiobook and I don't know how I feel about it. The narrator is eh. Kind of dry and monotone. I don't know that I will listen to many audiobooks.

As for exclusively reading eBooks, I'm starting to feel bad. I love that I can check out a book any time I want and that I don't have a ton of different books to lug around. But, I haven't been to the library once and I feel like I need to start taking Peanut so that she knows what a library is. Maybe we will make a trip of it this weekend.

Your turn to answer the questions ...

Happy happy happy

2011-10-03T21:55:00.002-04:00

One of my favorite pictures of The Lad was taken when he was just a month old. The camera was close to his face, and he was smiling big enough to make his dimples appear. His eyes were mischievous as he grinned. It is exactly our little Beastie Beast.

The Lad has picked up the most endearing habit of sing-songing, "Happy, happy, happy!" without being asked. I originally wrote "at random times," but it's not random. He's saying it because he is happy, but it's so unprompted, my heart literally feels warm and fuzzy every time it happens. We'll be riding in the car after a song we all like has us bobbing our heads when, from the backseat, instead of the melody, I'll hear a quiet, "Happy, happy, happy!" Being pushed through the grocery store after he has maowed down his free cookie (Love Publix), The Lad will clap his hands and shout, "Happy, happy, happy!" The Lad let loose a resounding, "Happy, happy, happy!" at the end of the three-hour ride home from Tampa, when The Boy shouted, "We're almost home!"

Since I was a teenager, I have spent a great deal of time chasing happiness. I think many of us do. I'd be happy if that boy asked me out or when I left for college. Happiness would be studying in Mexico or lining up the perfect summer internship. I couldn't be happy if the husband-to-be and I were living apart, but then we were living together and happiness meant his getting off the night shift. We were happy to get married, but then we needed to have babies. We were so happy when they arrived, but then gah! the sleeplessness! Wouldn't it be lovely if they would just get bigger?

But this weekend -- more than once -- I looked around at my smiling boys and realized: I am happy.

Of course, I get angry or shout or feel guilty for not getting something done that I should. Life is not perfect. My house is dirtier than it should be, and I forgot to bring diapers to daycare again today. Work is work, and my kids fight and get sick. But the weather seems to be breaking. Things were cool enough Sunday to open up the house and let in the fresh air. In the morning, I sat in my reading chair enjoying the breeze and flipping through a book while the laundry washed and the boys scattered toys from one end of the house to the other. In the evening, the husband and I sat on our patio sipping beers and watching the boys draw a chalk baseball field and play chase in the yard.

How could I not recognize the happiness in that moment, as my smiling Lad clapped his hands?

Off topic: Books

2011-10-02T14:17:00.001-04:00

Things I've read in the last three months:

Billy Boyle, James R. Benn: This is the first in a series of World War II mystery novels. Billy Boyle is a cop turned military investigator who, thanks to a highly placed uncle, ends up in the middle of the most important parts of the war. The history is good and the writing is quick. The husband introduced me to this series and I flew through the first three in July.

The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway: I reread Hemingway's first novel after reading Paula McClain's The Paris Wife and then A Moveable Feast last quarter. I hadn't read this one since high school. Then, I was so in awe of Hemingway that I thought the book was perfect. It's not. The characters are a little unlikable and the unattributed dialogue makes it hard to follow at times. But the flaws make it more real.

A Discovery of Witches, Deborah Harkness: I often joke that low expectations are the key to happiness. The internet was raving about this book, and I thoroughly expected it to be trashy and stupid. Instead I found it entertaining and engrossing. It is a little trashy. But it's like a thinking person's Twilight. I'll read the sequel.

The Reading Promise, Alice Ozma: A light, well-written memoir that I wrote about right after I read.

You Know When The Men Are Gone, Siobhan Fallon: Short stories about life for women on an army base. Depressing and unsatisfying, which is usual to the genre as far as I'm concerned. On a positive note, her writing was clear and engaging and felt honest.

The Weird Sisters, Eleanor Brown: Michelle and I both read this novel about three sisters dealing with personal trouble and returning home in their late 20s, early 30s. I really liked it. She did not. This book is not as smart as it thinks it is. The father is a college professor who speaks in Shakespearean dialogue; the book gets a little smug. But the interaction among the sisters who all are struggling in their roles in the family felt very real to me. For that, I forgave the book its faults.

Dani's Story, Diane and Bernie Lierow: Lane DeGregory with the St. Pete Times is one of my newswriting idols. She wrote this story about Dani, a feral child, and you should definitely read it. That kind of narrative journalism is what I aspire to do. This book is the continuation of that child's story, written by the couple who adopted her. The writing isn't great, but the story is fascinating.

Prince of the Mist, Carlos Ruiz Zafon: Have you read The Shadow of the Wind? If not, DO. It's mysterious and wonderful. This is a young adult novel by the author. It ... well, this is not a book I felt OK reading at night. I haven't been that creeped out since I read Animal Farm and Amityville Horror back-to-back the summer Silverchair came out with that creepy video with the guy in the pig mask.

State of Wonder, Ann Patchett: Gorgeous book. I completely agreed with everything Elizabeth over at Princess Nebraska had to say about this novel. Unlike her though, I really loved the cover, which was simple and pretty.

Bright's Passage, Josh Ritter: This is the first novel of one of my favorite singer-songwriters. Josh Ritter is an amazing lyricist; his lyrics always tell a story and are filled with witty, smart word play. This novel was ... interesting. It's very short and I would recommend reading it, though I warn you the first chapter or two is hard to swallow. It's set after World War I in West Virginia. Bright is a soldier trying to assimilate back into the world, helped along by a talking horse. (There's the hard to swallow part.) At the end, the novel felt relevant to our war-ridden world.

The Scent of Rain and Lightning, Nancy Pickard: Good, but not great. Your standard family secret novel.

The Atlas of Love, Laurie Frankel: Horrible chick lit.

The Choice: I don't remember who wrote this. It was an Amish life novel. I have mocked these books, but I had never read one, which is of course not fair. So, I read one. It was good for what it was. The writing didn't blow me away, but it was entertaining. I won't be reading any more though. Having grown up around Amish, I find it difficult to romanticize the lifestyle.

The Widower's Tale, Julia Glass: Spectacularly unlikeable characters, a plodding style and predictable plot.

Witches on the Road Tonight, Sheri Holman: Oh this was a weird book. I liked it and think the writing was quite beautiful, but I'm a sucker for a pseudo-fairytale. So, if you like that style and are fascinated by Appalachia and class differences, this is the book for you. Otherwise, don't bother.

Crossing the Creek, Anna Lillios: This poor book. It was a thesis, I think, and read like the worst kind of one: stilted, slow and dry. The subject -- the friendship between two Florida authors, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings and Zora Neale Hurston -- was interesting enough to drag me through, but just barely. I more enjoyed Cross Creek Kitchens, which was a cookbook written from someone living in Rawlings' Cross Creek house and emulating the lifestyle.

Once Upon A River, Bonnie Jo Campbell: This is a coming of age novel set in the wilds of Michigan. Like it's setting, the book is rugged and rough. The main character is a girl who worships Annie Oakley. It had the feel of a female Odyssey.

The Magician King, Lev Grossman: This is a sequel to The Magicians, which is sort of a grown up Harry Potter: boy discovers he's a magician and goes off to a magic school where he has adventures. To make it adult, there is sex and pop culture references. I wanted to like it, but didn't really. This book is about the same. It's faster paced and more entertaining than the first, but both are just so self-aware and trying too hard.

Tiger, Tiger, Margeaux Fragoso: This book is so good and so disturbing. It's a memoir about Fragoso's relationship with the pedophile who first molested her when she was 8 years old. Fragoso is unflinchingly honest. I realize that's a cliche, but there's just no other way to describe it. This book makes you squirm, but it also leaves room for hope and sympathy.

Inconceivable, Sean and Carolyn Savage: Carolyn Savage, while trying to expand her family with reproductive technology, became pregnant with another family's embryo. She basically became an unwilling surrogate. Complicating things: The Savages are Catholic. Fascinating. This book got me all riled up. I think the husband was glad when I finished it; I stopped shouting random paragraphs at him.

The Lost Mother, Mary McGarry Morris: Morris was an Oprah's Book Club author. It shows. It's not a bad book, but it moves a little slow and is depressing.

What are you reading?

Up your nose

2011-09-29T19:53:00.003-04:00

My comeuppance for smugly thinking, "My kids never do that," whenever I heard about a child shoving a bead or other small object up their nose came this evening.

We were sitting at a nice Spanish restaurant, the husband and I both dressed up in work clothes, when The Lad shoved a pea up his nose. This was less than half an hour after the husband said to me, after I told The Lad to get his fingers out of his nose, "Yeah, that's his new thing. He's been shoving things up his nose all day -- crayons, the legs of the (plastic) lizard ..."

The pea went up his nostril after his macaroni-and-cheese-covered fingers.

The Lad thinks he's a comedian. (He's kind of right.)

So, there I was fishing a pea out of his nose, when I got the giggles. Then the husband and The Boy followed suit and The Lad, delighted to make everyone laugh, chuckled, too, which sent the pea farther up his nose. In desperation, I squished his nostrils together. He laughed again at the same moment, and the mangled pea went shooting onto the table.

"This is the funniest thing ever," The Boy giggled. (He was kind of right.)

The Boy did a lot of things at almost 2: tantrums, spilling milk, throwing food, etc. But he never NEVER stuck anything up his nose. And that is the difference between kids.

---

Another couple quick examples of the differences between these two boys:

We went this afternoon to the Glazer Children's Museum in Tampa. (Highly recommend if you're ever here with your kiddos). They have this very cool net-and-wood-platform climbing structure, which The Boy wanted to do until he realized it was held up just by a net. Then, it didn't matter that it was enclosed. Nope, he was not going to do it. Meanwhile, The Lad, who is too young to get in the thing, had to be physically restrained from launching himself into the opening.

Later in the museum, we visited the fake grocery store. The Boy went zooming through the store, grabbing everything, just happy to be a pretend consumer. The Lad zoomed through the store, but picked up only a few, very specific things: bread (he loves toast), cookies, cake mix and toothpaste (he loves loves loves to brush his teeth.

9 months old

2011-09-28T21:30:00.000-04:00

Gizmo celebrated her 9 month birthday by cutting a tooth overnight, keeping us up most of the night. When we woke in the morning, I looked in her mouth and sure enough, there was a tiny slit in her gums where the tooth will soon be. Here she is chewing on her hand. I could not get her hand out of her mouth.

She is my wild woman. She is no longer Maddie but Madeline Sarah 90 percent of the time because I'm chiding her for getting into something, putting something in her mouth and generally wreaking havoc in her cute little baby way.

She is cruising, people. Cruising. As in walking with the assistance of a table or couch or window sill. The other day, she let go of the table like she thought she could stand there unassisted. When she fell over, she was Not Happy. I'm guessing that is going to fuel her to learn to stand on her own faster.

She's been waving. Kind of. I think. She puts her hand up high in the air and just holds it there. She's gotten close to clapping but mainly because her hands connect while she excitedly flaps her arms.

Gizmo will eat anything you put in front of her. The other day she ate some of my stuffed pepper. She would prefer to feed herself, even if it takes 45 minutes.

Dressing her has become difficult to say the least. She goes into an alligator death roll the minute I put her in on her back and reacts like an angry badger when trying to shove her arms into her 12 month clothes that she easily fits into. I feel I deserve a medal or at the least applause each morning after dressing her.

She doesn't have any words really. She's been known to let off a string of "ma-ma-ma-ma" or "da-da-da-da." She loves to give raspberries, showering the person holding her with cute baby spit.

She's still not sleeping through the night. For awhile, we were down to one feeding a night but she's back to two. Those are the only feedings that I can get her to focus and concentrate. Nursing during the day is not easy but she's quick, mainly because she wants to get down and play with her sister.

I'm going to save this picture for when they are screaming at each other in 10 years over clothes or the bathroom or whatever else will cause the husband to lock himself in a room and drink.

Dispatch from home

2011-09-28T10:44:00.001-04:00

The Lad is home with the husband today. Beastie woke up with matty, red-rimmed eyes. We're out of the expensive, made-of-unicorn-tears, miraculous eye drops that clear up pink eye (or anything I suspect is pink eye), so we kept him home. If your child has ever had pink eye, you know it is an irritating illness: highly contagious so the child has to stay home, but not really affecting the child. So, instead of lying pitifully in bed with a fever, the child is zooming around the house while you're trying to work, scattering papers and demanding food. (And, if you're me and a little bit of a hypochrondiac, the child is getting WAY too close to you with his oozing eyes.)

Anyway. The husband is is a wonderful man for staying home with The Beast.

This is an email I just got from quarantine:
(The Lad) playing with the phone: Hi papa, blankies, Go Bruce, Daddy GOOOOOO!!!!! Go Bruce! Go Bruce! Boom boom!

I suspect he is talking about baseball (Bruce refers to Cincinnati Reds player Jay Bruce. Baseball is never just baseball for The Beast. It is "ball Bruce.") and his fall last night.

While waiting for the husband to get home, the boys went out to play. They were playing peekaboo, one of them on top of a storage bin/bench on the edge of our patio and the other bouncing up from behind a nearby bush. The Boy managed to truly surprise The Lad on his last turn, and in his shock, The Lad fell off the bench backward, landing flat on his back on our concrete stone patio. He's got a nasty knot on the back of his head, as he told the husband: "BUMP! Ow. (Boy) bump! Ow." Apparently, his grandpa needs to hear the story, too.

Music

2011-09-26T22:11:00.002-04:00

My tastes in music seemed to have frozen between the years of when I was 16 and 21. I love Alanis Morissette, Third Eye Blind and Dave Matthews Band. Every once in awhile, I like to throw in some Dashboard Confessional (the husband always asks if I'm going to break up with him when I'm listening to this), a little Fall Out Boy and I can always get down with Fiona Apple.

Lately, I've been listening to A LOT of Sara Bareilles, Beyonce, Mumford & Sons, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals with a bit of Jay-Z and The Civil Wars.

(I don't know what you are going to make of my musical tastes. Judge me if you want. At least I don't still listen to *NSync, who I had a mild obsession with in college. And don't let Hillary fool you. She TOTALLY went to a concert with me once. I think she even had fun.)

I tell you all of this because I've been trying to figure out what is appropriate to listen to with the girls. Peanut loves her some Taylor Swift but I just cannot do it anymore. I can't. I (put my hands in the shape of heart) you, Taylor but I cannot listen to you anymore. We've been listening to her songs non-stop since Peanut could utter "Tawoor," which has been since she was about 18 months.

Gizmo hasn't really picked up a favorite but she does seem to get pretty excited when listening to O.A.R. (another college favorite).

Peanut can now listen to a song a couple times and Know it. Sing along to it in a freakish sort of way. The other day I had the VH1 countdown on and Katy Perry's "Friday Night" song came out. You know the one where she can't remember what she did the night before and talks about threesomes and puking in shoes. Yeah. My 3-year-old started chanting, "T-G-I-F! T-G-I-F!" and said to me, "I like that Friday Night song."

I was a little horrified. Not really the most appropriate song for the toddler age set.

I'm trying to find the balance of not listening to Barney and Teletubbies but also not exposing them to anything that would cause my mother to disown me should they repeat song lyrics in front of her (Jay-Z has been banned from the playlist when the kids are in the car).

My childhood memories are filled with Huey Lewis and the News, Julio Englesias, Willy Nelson and my favorite song as a toddler was Tina Turner's "What's love got to do with it?"

So what music do you listen to with your kids? Do you let them listen to grown up music or subject yourself to endless rounds of "The Wheels on the Bus"?

While the husband was away

2011-09-25T12:55:00.000-04:00

The husband was at a cousin's wedding this weekend in St. Louis. While he was having a grand time with his extended family at Irish pubs, the boys and I had some memorable moments of our own.

The Boy kicked the weekend off Friday by busting his lip wide open on our coffee table in the 30 minutes between arriving home and my leaving to go see a friend's art show. I was rushing around, trying to change clothes, make mac-and-cheese for the boys, give the babysitter directions to our house and supervise the usual after-school/work routine when I heard BANG!, "OWWWWW!"

I found The Boy with blood spraying out of his mouth. I'm still not exactly sure what happened, but he shredded his top lip with an incisor. Here's what nearly four years of parenting has taught me: Mouth wounds bleed a great deal, but rarely are that bad. Four years ago, I would have canceled my plans and rushed him to the ER to pay $1000 to have a doctor tell me there was nothing to do with his lip but let it heal. Friday, I wrapped a towel around an ice pack and told him not to swallow the blood, then left him with a babysitter.

And I didn't feel guilty at all. (It helped that he's been asking for a babysitter for the last month. There's another parenting lesson for you: Make babysitter nights special -- our boys get to watch a movie and stay up late -- so the kids WANT you to leave them alone.)

So, that was Friday.

Saturday, we went to a festival at the children's museum. We had a snow cone and a bounce house session. The Boy played veterinarian for a little bit, then the two of them spent a good half hour in the toddler play area flinging themselves into the padded mats. Seeing them play together despite being in a crowd of other kids was heartwarming; they really are buddies.

We waited in line FOREVER in 90 percent humidity and 90-degree heat so that The Boy could get his face painted by a middle-aged woman in a pink wig. Of course, The Lad had to have what his brother did, though in his case, the paint stayed on all of five minutes. We left after face painting and The Lad was whooped, so I carried him to the car. He laid his head on my chest --- and the shark smeared all over my cleavage. Attractive.

SHARKS!

The Boy managed to keep his shark, his first-ever face painting, on through nap. It attracted the attention of every old person in the grocery store. They also might have noticed us because The Lad was singing in the cart at the top of his lungs.

When we got home, the boys ran inside to play while I carried in the groceries. My house is small; I turned my back long enough to take the seven steps from the kitchen to the garage to get the last bag of groceries and this happened:

To be clear: Both the lid and the seat were down.

So, in the 30 seconds my back was turned he lifted both and managed to fall in fully-clothed.

He was shouting, "PEE!"

Wanting to encourage my little Beastie's obsession with the bathroom, I tried to let him stand on the stool and pee, once I stripped off the toilet-drenched clothes. But I was afraid he'd slip in the toilet water drips, so I dumped him into the tub. (They needed a bath anyway.) He stood up and peed in the tub, proudly pointing and declaring, "PEE!"

The Boy, whom I had told to strip off because they were getting a bath, took one look at the situation, looked at me and said, "You need to rinse that out before I get in."

We ended the evening with pizza and Tangled, which is a very good movie -- especially for Disney. I might have had a beer -- or three.

So far today, we've had Target and legos, silly bands, sidewalk chalk, balls and lunch. The Boy is currently boycotting nap, though I'm insisting on quiet time in his room. Football and cartoons are on tap for this afternoon.

I miss the husband.

How do you do it?

2011-09-22T22:14:00.000-04:00

Wednesday morning dawned with Peanut crawling into bed with me. Her feet seemed exceptionally warm on my shins as she folded her body next to mine. I wrapped my arms around her and realized it wasn't just her feet that were warm. Her whole body was.

The husband was getting ready for work, only in his second week at the new job where he doesn't have any time off until he's been there for three months. That meant I needed to make plans to stay home. (When we worked at the same place, this was a little easier. I could come in a couple hours late, he could leave a couple hours early and we just traded the kids in the parking lot.)

Peanut said she felt fine but her 101 temp said otherwise. When I couldn't get it to stay down (probably because I was using expired advil ... mother of the year right here. It only expired in February.) I decided to call the doctor. When Peanut realized she was going to the doctor, she fessed up, telling me that her ears hurt. The doctor confirmed the ear infection and on the antibiotics she went.

Thursday dawned and she was cool as a cucumber. Seeing no need to stay home a second day, I took them both to the babysitter's only to get a call from the husband at 3 p.m. saying Gizmo now had a temp of 101 and had thrown up. We played a quick game of, "Whose going to leave work and get the sick kiddo to the doctor." He said he didn't have any time off. I told him I stayed home yesterday and that I had just arrived at work while he was almost done with his day. He agreed and made arrangements to leave a little early.

Thankfully, his brother and sister-in-law recently moved to the area. With no kids of their own to wrangle, they agreed tonight to come stay with Peanut so the husband could take Gizmo to the doctor.

He sent me play-by-play of the doctor's visit via text messages and updated his Facebook so I knew what was going on:

-There are six groups waiting.

-Been here 15 min called no one back.

-No ear infection. They r testing her urine. I think it's teeth. She's been her normal self.

-You would think children are being led to slaughter here at the Pediatrician. I am recording sound for next time Peanut acts up.

-Urine is fine. They just swabbed her throat.

-She has strep throat.

And guess who won't be at work Friday? This momma.

Besides the whole "I hate that my kids are sick and possibly in pain," I also hate the picking between sick kid and work and who is needed more at work - mommy or daddy. We both need to be at work but we both want/need to be there for our kids when they are sick. (One day in a week, I don't feel so guilty about. Two days in a week, I start to feel guilty. Why? I don't know.)

We've been lucky to have family help us. My dad recently retired and has stepped in. My mom has been known to take a day off in pinch to help out. The husband's mom has been there for us numerous times when needed. But even needing them makes me feel guilty sometimes. A voice in my head reminds me that these are my children, my responsibility.

So how do you balance sick kids and work?

Loves

2011-09-21T19:30:00.000-04:00

I love this time of year but am feeling out of sorts (Peanut has an ear infection. She's ok but I had to stay home with her today, take her to the doctor, get her meds, etc.) So to remind myself of all the good things going on, here is my list of loves:

That everything has a pumpkin flavor now. Pumpkin flavored coffee, donuts, cookies, muffins. I was beyond excited when I realized the cafeteria at work had pumpkin flavoring for coffee. (oh em geeee ... let me tell you about the easiest pumpkin muffin recipe, evah. Box of spice cake mix, 15 oz. can of pumpkin puree, mix and bake according to box. No need for oil, water, egg. Enjoy the loveliness.)

That smell in the air at night. You know that smell of a slight burning, like leaves burning? No? Just me?

Sweaters and boots. OK, it's a bit early yet but when the temps hover around 60, I'm in sweaters, boots and skirts. I got two great sweater dresses this summer that I can't wait to wear. I'm not usually a fan of sweater dresses but these look great (if I do say so myself).

Babies in footie pajamas. Do I need to say more?

New shows. I don't watch a lot of tv (with the whole working nights thing not because I am above it) but I try to catch Grey's Anatomy and I got into Glee last year.

What are you loving?

Said

2011-09-20T21:06:00.002-04:00

The Boy, upon receiving a pop (that's soda to most people): POP! I get pop for Football Sunday. Football Sunday is great. Football Sunday is LOVELY!

---

The Boy: Momma, I'm awesome.

---

The Boy, putting on his football helmet: Hike! Hike!
The Lad: Hi! (he runs into The Boy's room and runs back out with the Ironman mask on to tackle his brother) Hi! Hi!

---

The Lad, upon seeing the husband get the laptop in the morning: Hi-ights! Hi-ights! Ball hi-ights!
(Translation: Highlights! Baseball highlights!)

---

The husband: What are you going to do while I'm away this weekend?
Me: I don't know. Maybe the children's museum, maybe Target to make The Boy happy. We'll go grocery shopping to make The Lad happy -- free cookie. Survive.

---

Waitress at Olive Garden, where we have to go every year for the husband's birthday: Cheese?
The Lad, before anyone else can talk: CHEESE!
The husband: I'm pretty sure he wishes that were an option in all places in his life. Would you like cheese with that?
The Lad: CHEESE! CHEESE!

Race day

2011-09-19T20:29:00.001-04:00

The husband ran a 10K this past Saturday. Afterward, both of the boys ran in the kids' races. Some day, all the people the husband runs with are going to get tired of asking me if I run, too. I'm happy to be cheering at the finish line.

My boys stretching before the kids' races and after the husband's 10K.

More stretching.
The Lad is so roly-poly, this is what happens when he attempts to touch his toes from his back.
Note The Boy's form. This is serious business.

During The Boy's quarter-mile race.
The husband is in the background, the tall guy in black shorts. Parents had to run with their kids, which totally bummed out The Boy who thought he was old enough to run alone. He IS 3 and a half, you know.

We did not get a picture of The Lad during his 100-yard diaper dash. Just imagine my little Beastie and his deliciously chubby legs power-walking down a road. He started running and definitely sprints when racing The Boy at home, but all the people cheering kind of freaked him out, I think.

Edited to add: I didn't capture The Beast in action, but our friend Maureen did! Look at those legs!

He would like everyone to know that it's important to hydrate after a race.

Post-race pride.

Life changes

2011-09-18T13:15:00.000-04:00

So what do you do when you are a control freak and life-changing events are beyond your control?

If you are me, you have a few weeks filled with angst. Cry it out a few times. Think of every possible outcome, both good and bad. Cry it out some more. Over-analyze everything. Have one particularly bad day of crying and then come to the conclusion of, “This is out of my control. I have to move on and let things happen or else I’m going to be a puffy-faced mess for the rest of my life.”

Welcome to the last month of my life. There has been so much I wanted to write about but haven’t. We are a blog of two working mothers so it seemed logical that I should write about what is going when it pertains to work changes. But the thing is, so much was up in the air that I wanted to wait until there was a conclusion for fear of putting too much out there. Well, I don’t think there is going to be a conclusion for awhile so here goes:

The husband got a new job. It is a wonderful, exciting opportunity for him. For those of you who don’t know, we are both journalists. We have worked in the same newsroom for the past seven years with the exception of a six-month period. It’s worked for us. We have built good careers and have been successful.

However, the husband has always wanted to work for a different newspaper. When the opportunity came, he interviewed and got the job. It’s a place where I would like to work, too, but that would require walking away from a company that has invested in me, that made me a manager at 25, that has allowed to grow and be responsible for things before many other places would. I have a good future here.

Here’s the crux of the problem: The newspaper where I work now is not in an area where we want to raise our girls. It’s not a bad area just not where either of us thought we’d be for the rest of our life together. The different newspaper (where the husband is now) is exactly where we want to be, but could require a career shift on my part.

So. Family or career?

For now, we are trying to balance both. The husband is driving about 50 miles one way to work each day and I’m driving about 30 in the complete opposite. The girls stay in the town where we live.

It isn’t easy.

I still don’t work until noon, leaving me a single parent in the mornings and the husband a single parent at night, something we’ve been doing for 18 months. It is wearing on both of us but we don’t know of an alternative right now.

Staying where I am means I continue on a good career path (provided I continue to work hard, do what is necessary, etc.) Going to where the husband is (whenever there is an opening and if I am hired for it) could mean more odd hours, weekend work and taking a detour in my career BUT also means living in a place where we have always wanted to live AND being closer to family (like 10 minutes from my parents) AND could lead to more opportunities (but that is unknown).

These are not decisions to take lightly. The husband wants me to do what I think is best, even if that means I stay put. He’s been very supportive.

Up until now, I don’t think I’ve had a harder life decision to make. Deciding where to go to college? No problem. Deciding to marry my husband? Probably the easiest. Deciding to have children? Jumped in with two feet.

But this? I just don’t know. I feel selfish if I decide to stay. I feel anxious if I go.

Stay tuned …

And the winner is ...

2011-09-16T07:07:00.001-04:00

Commenter No. 9, Amy L. Congratulations!

(Full disclosure: This is how the random number generation happens in our house. I yelled from the living room to the husband in the kitchen. "Pick a number 1through 16!" "9 ... Why?")

And thank you all for playing along. As a friend put it, it was nice reading about all the good things happening in the world, even if they weren't happening to us.

A couple good things from my last two days: cool evening breezes have returned, allowing for walks after dinner again, and The Beast has started singing the ABCs. You only can understand about the first five letters, but it is adorable.

Amy, email me --- hrcopsey (at) gmail (dot) com --- and let me know your address and a couple other things: favorite color, chocolate or peanut butter?, favorite candy and favorite thing about fall. I'll have a box headed your way soon.

The great hair debate

2011-09-15T21:12:00.001-04:00

So Gizmo was blessed with Awesome hair. Let's review:

All cute and newborn fuzzy, dark.

Fauxhawk. Awesome.

More fauxhawk awesomeness

Bam-Bam. Awesome.

Where her fauxhawk once was is now just a strip of long hair that is always in her face unless I put it in a ponytail on top of her head. It's weird because most of it is still fairly dark but where it is growing in, it is lighter. The rest of her head is covered in nice, even, light hair. (Unlike Peanut who sported a mullet for the first 18 months of her life. Sorry, kiddo, it's true.)

The bangs are driving the husband crazy. He said I have a week to cut them or else he's going to do it himself. Here's what she looks like without the pony tail:

(I can't tell if this look says, "Cut my bangs now, woman," or "Don't even bring those scissors near me.")

My girls' hair is sacred to me. No one is going to cut it unless I OK it. I don't want her hair cut for a variety of reasons, the biggest one being that I spent too much of childhood dealing with poorly cut bangs - too short, crooked, permed (shudder). If we cut her bangs now, we will just have to keep doing it and we might as well put $5 in jar for every time we cut them so that she has enough to pay for her therapy (excuse my melodrama.)

But really, if we just wait it out, the rest of her hair will grow out, it will gorgeous and we will laugh when we look back at this silly debate ... ha, ha ... ha.

Who takes care of hair cutting in your house? When did your kids first get a hair cut?

Mood-lift giveaway

2011-09-14T19:33:00.003-04:00

I'm in a mood. I'm not going to whine about the reasons why; it's not productive and none of them are big. (Well, except for the fact that the transmission in our second car, the one paid off, might be shot ...) I'm trying to look on the bright side. My children are mostly well-behaved. The husband and I had a date last weekend. We've got lots of fun things on the horizon. I've been counting little blessings like midday chats with my mom and emails from my funny little grandpa.

But still, there is a mood.

So, I'm trying a new tact. I'm going to do something nice for someone else, for one of you. It's been a long time since we did a giveaway and now seems as good a time as any.

To enter, tell me in the comments section one good thing about your day. You have until 12 a.m. Sept. 16. I'll pick a number randomly and announce the winner that day. Winner gets a box of goodies from me -- probably including baked goods of some sort -- and the chance to say, as The Boy has recently learned to do, "Winner winner chicken dinner!"

Things I want

2011-09-13T09:34:00.000-04:00

An app that connects my fridge and my phone. A scanner would survey what is in my fridge and the amounts of the food and then send it to my phone so that I know if I have enough cheese to make a pizza or if I need to go to the store (I needed to go to the store.)

To know if Gizmo is getting all of her teeth now or I should expect a slow and painful process every. single. time. a tooth comes in. Said slow and painful process includes days of fever, diaper rash and just general crankiness from my normal happy baby. (Just break through already, for the love of everything holy and pure ...)

A new laptop since ours just kicked the bucket and now I can't download my library ebooks to my nook to read. (I think that made me sound whiny.)

To get this for Gizmo ( Beelieve in magic):

To get this for Peanut (Hold on to your dreams):

And this (Hug it out):

(Oh tinyrevoluntionary.com, I love you so much)

To get this for me:

What do you want?

Simple but true

2011-09-12T15:07:00.001-04:00

We were the first of our close friends to have a baby. Like many new parents, the husband and I were determined not to let having a baby change everything -- though, of course, it does. We took The Boy to book clubs and parties, and while it was easy because babies are highly portable and he was a particularly easy-going newborn, I found it hard to follow a discussion about dialogue when I busy trying to get the baby to burp. Also, juggling a baby and food while doing the Momma-sway and carrying on a conversation is a talent. We left earlier than we used to and had to clean up baby spit-up instead of a spilled drink. We persevered, but things were different.

When other babies arrived -- the first, exactly nine months after The Boy -- things changed even more. We all still got together for dinner or special occasions, but instead of debating politics or making music, we sat around and watched the babies while we discussed diaper rashes and teething remedies. I don't think any of us really minded the change, though we acknowledged it self-deprecatingly. "What parents we've become!" we laughed. "We're old and boring." But we all were ready to be parents, and the babies were chubby and adorable. It was different, but good.

Now, all those babies are toddlers and preschoolers. When we get together, we have to remind them to share and be nice to their friends. We watch them race around our yards and dig in the dirt. Things are changing again.

We hosted a dinner party the other night, inviting the parents of the baby boy who arrived nine months after The Boy and new friends, the parents of one of The Boy's school pals. Their children are 8 and 4, then we had The Boy, 3, and The Lad, 1, and The Boy's best buddy, 2. I set them up in the living room, laying out a spread of fruit and pretzels and pizza on our giant coffee table. They watched a movie while we retreated to the kitchen and dining room. When they got tired of the movie, they played in the boys' rooms. We could hear them, but not see them.

It was WONDERFUL.

I love my kids, but it was so nice to have adult conversation without being interrupted by baby babble or whining. And I think it was nice for the kids, too, to have time to themselves to socialize with their friends. Some of my favorite memories are running around our house or my aunt and uncle's house with my cousins, having our own little party while the adults played cards in the kitchen. Every so often, we would sneak into the kitchen to listen to conversations way above our heads or ask the parents to referee a particularly nasty disagreement. Usually, we were quickly shooed, though if you were quiet or especially wronged, you might get special dispensation. The same thing happened at our party, with only The Lad -- who is still so roly-poly cute, it's hard to shoo him -- getting special dispensation to sit on my lap in the adult world for a bit.

I thought when I started writing this that I might have something profound(ish) or helpful (10 tips for having a dinner party with kids) to say. I don't really, other than:

Have a party.

Give your kids and yourself some space.

Enjoy.

Or maybe this:

Kids change things, but change isn't bad.

Where were you?

2011-09-11T10:05:00.006-04:00

I had a 9 a.m. history class. It was my senior year in college. We didn't have cable hooked up in the sorority room Hillary and I shared with our good friend T so I hadn't even seen what was happening in New York. Had I known, I would have never went to class that morning.

After my history class, I had an elective 2 hour, 10 a.m. English class. This was before we carried cellphones around so no one could get in touch with me. I remember walking into the class and hearing whisperings of something happening. Something bad. Our crotchedy old professor actually told us it was no big deal. A small plane had flown into the World Trade Tower. Nothing to worry about.

I felt anxious and contemplated leaving so I could get to the student-run newspaper, where I was an editor. Instead I stayed put even though I couldn't concentrate.

Just shy of two hours later, I strolled into the newsroom and was greeted by a chorus of "Where have you been?!" and "Your mother is trying to find you!"

People were rushing around. Some stared at the television watching the replay of the plane hitting the tower and the buildings crumbling. Others were crying. Lots of people were on the phone. The enormity of what was happening hit me and I remember being very angry with my English professor (of all people).

I quickly called my mother to let her know I was safe in our small college town and no, I hadn't been transported to New York or Washington. We had a hard time tracking down my sister and letting her know what happened because she was at funeral for a friend who had died suddenly in his mid-20s. My dad was in the state highway patrol so he was working at the state's security command center. Thankfully everyone we knew was safe.

Those in our newsroom worked non-stop for hours. Dozens of people contributed as we watched the horrible news unfold. It was mind-numbing to see what was happening and to hear the predictions of how many people were dead.

I remember walking down the street with Hillary. I told her I feared it would just keep happening. What about all the planes that hadn't landed yet? I had never been so afraid and felt my world shift so much.

The next couple days were a blur. We did a lot of work at the newspaper and not so much of going to class. The Sept. 12 newspaper hangs framed in the newsroom now along with papers of when Kennedy was assassinated, the Vietnam War riots and other historical events. Ten years later, it makes me so proud to think of the work we did in those days.

After I graduated college, Hillary and I moved to D.C. for summer internships. My mother wasn't so thrilled by the move, fearing something could happen again. We were on the National Mall for the first July 4th celebration post-Sept. 11. I had a surreal feeling. Everyone was celebrating the holiday and yet still anxious. I think we had to go through three or four checkpoints just to walking around the Mall area.

Ten years, a marriage and two kids later, that time seems far removed. We haven't explained to Peanut yet what happened then even though it was hard to avoid the images on television this week. She and Gizmo will never know any different time but it will still be just a historical event to them. Just as the assassinations of JFK, Martin Luther King Jr. and the Vietnam War are historical events but my parents lived through them.

It is the reality we live in. With the threat of a possible terrorist attack this weekend, I spent three hours Friday afternoon putting together a worst case scenario plan for our newsroom. It is a sad thing that it didn't seem odd to me to do such extensive planning.

Where were you?

Developmental differences

2011-09-08T20:07:00.001-04:00

This is Iron Beastie.

Both of the boys thought The Lad in this mask was hilarious. Like whooping, squealing belly laughs and trilling giggles hilarious. The Boy decided The Lad was a monster and he should run from him. The Lad was happy to oblige. But several minutes into this, after I watched The Lad in that mask crawl under an end table, run into our TV console (he giggled) and climb onto our coffee table all in The Boy's exact path, I realized the kiddos were playing two distinctly different games.

The Boy was being chased by a bad guy.

The Lad was playing follow the leader.

That person, talking about her dreams

2011-09-07T16:45:00.001-04:00

The Lad had some sort of half-hearted sickness over the weekend, and he gave it to me. I'm not really sick. I'm just lethargic and have a slight tickle in my throat. But the crud is disturbing my sleep. Maybe it's the low-grade fever, but I have had the most terrible dreams this week. They're not nightmares, exactly, no one is chasing me with knives or anything like that. But they leave me unsettled and anxious and wanting to touch my sweaty-headed, sleeping boys to remind myself what's real.

First, I dreamed the husband had died. I don't know what he died of, but he was gone and I was trying to figure out finances: could we afford to keep the house? should I move myself and the boys back to Ohio with our family? how could I make life OK for the boys when their daddyman was gone? It was the kind of dream that lingers even after you wake, and I kept drifting in and out of it. One minute, I was awake in my bed, fingers tangled around the husband's and the next, I was sitting at a table with my mom looking at bills.

Then, last night, I dreamed The Boy had come just inches from getting crushed by a semi on the state route where I grew up. I was traveling by myself with the boys in an SUV (which we don't have), and we stopped at a sort of private park to visit with people I haven't seen since high school. While I was chatting with these people, The Boy ran after a dog and, knowing how busy the road was, I went tearing after him, snatching him away from harm just as a giant blue semi rolled over the pavement where his toes have been. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I was so grateful to see The Boy's smiling face in the living room.

I've always had unsettling dreams when I'm ill. Growing up, I always knew I was getting sick because I'd have the same recurring dream: a trampoline and my grandpa, who is a very nice man in real life, yelling and just crushing me with nastiness.

Nights like these make me want to let my boys take whatever they want into bed with them. I have the husband to snuggle up with and pull me back to reality. If they need a zillion stuffed animals, a stinky blanky and a nightlight, who am I to judge?

Any weird dreams disturbing your sleep lately?